


Homecoming

by foxysquid



Series: Erumike Week [8]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Bisexuality, Bottom Erwin Smith, Boyfriends, Childhood Sweethearts, Consensual Sex, Depression, Gay Rights, Hippie Peacenik Agitators, Homophobia, Infidelity, Love Triangles, M/M, Masturbation, Military, OT3, Oral Sex, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Romance, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Veterans, Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1973.  With the signing of the Paris Peace Accords, the US's involvement in the Vietnam War has officially come to an end.  Operation Homecoming has been successful in negotiating the release of US soldiers, and a number of POWs are being sent home.  Among them is Mike Zacharius.  He's overjoyed to be freed, but after his agonizing captivity, he has no shortage of doubts.  He's not sure if he's the same man he once was, or what kind of home he'll be coming back to.  It's been seven years since he's had any word from his friends and family, and seven years since he last saw the man he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He didn't believe it, when they told him. They opened the doors and set him free, but he couldn't take it in. Too sick and injured to walk, he wore a dazed look as they wheeled him out into the open air. It had to be a dream. The air smelled fresher, but there had to be another, more rational explanation. There wasn't an outside world anymore, so how could he be in it? The prison had become his life, the space within its walls his world, and his cell his kingdom.

From the Hanoi Hilton to the Hanoi Taxi--it happened so fast.

Mike didn't begin to believe the truth of his freedom until he felt the lift of the plane and his ears popped. It was a feeling he knew well, from his years in the service. It was a military plane, so there were no windows in the aircraft cabin to look out of to view the vastness of green land and then the dark sea below, but he sensed it. He knew he was rising, high into the sky. He was leaving the last seven years behind.

He was going home.

***

Mike hated being on the news. He hated the questions from interviewers and the flash of cameras in his face. He'd never liked being the center of attention. He'd hated it since he'd gotten his first, early growth spurt. He'd towered over everyone in his class, and the other kids had had a way of staring up at him half-accusingly, as if it was his fault he'd grown so tall so fast. _Giant. Beanpole. Freak._

He was a freak again, but not because he was tall. It was likely that no one watching on television realized how tall he was, since he wasn't standing up. He used a wheelchair now, although the doctors told him it should be temporary, that he'd be walking normally again in year or two. The long months of torture and starvation had left him weakened and damaged. That was one of the reasons he was being stared at. The reporters kept asking him questions about how they'd treated him in Hanoi, what he'd suffered at the hands of the prison guards. He smiled and answered politely, if briefly. He avoided saying too much, responding in single words and half-sentences, with nods or shakes of his head. They eventually realized that he wasn't the ideal interview candidate, especially as some of his fellow former POWs were much more forthcoming and charismatic. 

He didn't like being on display, like an animal in a zoo exhibit, but he wasn't about to complain. He was home again. He got to see his mom again. When she saw him, she threw her arms around him, and in spite of how small she was, she held him so tight, he could hardly breathe. She was wearing the same perfume she had always worn, a familiar floral scent from his childhood. His lanky father stood beside her, his eyes full of tears, and he reached out to ruffle Mike's hair, like he used to when Mike was little. "My son, the hero," he said, and Mike realized he was crying, too. He didn't care if anyone saw the tears run down his face. Sitting through the nosy questions of reporters was a pain, but one he could bear. It was worth it, for this.

It was like a dream, being home with his family. A good dream, but a disorienting one. He worried that it might end at any moment. He sat with a nervous tension in his limbs, half-expecting the dream was about to end. He'd start awake and find himself covered with filth and sweat, a sour taste in his mouth, a sharp pain lancing his thigh. 

They took him back to the house where he grew up. It was as odd to see how much things had changed as it was to see how much they'd stayed the same. The same old photos were up on the wall, pictures of him and his parents from his childhood, but there were new ones added, of scenes and stories he didn't know. There were pictures of his parents without him. On vacation. With a friend he didn't recognize. The china in the china cabinet was still Mom's wedding china, with the same old pattern, but the carpet and the wallpaper framing it were different, yellow and green. It intensified that nagging feeling that he was stuck in a dream. In dreams, you visited familiar places that your mind made warped and weird.

His mom cooked him his favorite dinner on the night of the first full day he spent at home. She threw in his second and third and fourth dinners as well, creating a feast to which she invited everyone he knew. Everyone in the family came over, along with every single person he knew who was still living in Roseville, Iowa. There was one important face missing, someone in particular that he wanted to see, but he tried not to worry about that. He knew the reason for that absence, and he could wait, because he had to wait. Not everyone had stayed in Roseville, so they couldn't all arrive immediately. After seven years, a lot of things had changed. He might not have known what all those changes were yet, but he knew that.

Roseville was the town where Mike had been born, where he'd grown up, and the town he thought he'd live in for the rest of his life, until he'd been captured. Over the last few years, he'd come to believe that he'd never see it again, that he would die far from home, in the dark and alone. It wasn't impossible that he could have gone mad. The years of solitude could have driven him from his mind and into fantasy at last. He'd seen that happen to other men.

No, it was real. It had to be. His mother's hand was firm on his own. When he looked around the room at the people gathered to see him, he reminded himself that this was happening. He couldn't dream this so clearly and perfectly. Their voices, their laughter, the shapes of their smiles: they were all as Mike remembered, from his previous life, before the war. Friendly, familiar faces, the faces of most of the people he cared about. Older, but the same. They weren't going to disappear, to dissolve into nothingness and leave him lonelier and in more pain than before.

The doctors had said it was normal to feel this way, to experience this sense of unreality. He'd have trouble adapting. They'd told him he'd be all right, that it would pass, in time. Mike wanted to believe that, so he tried to believe it. He tried to be happy. Too much had happened that he couldn't ignore, but for the sake of his friends and family, he could pretend for a little while that he was the same old Mike.

It worked, for a few hours, but he grew progressively more overwhelmed by the attention and company as time passed. The voices started to grate on him. Everything was too loud, too colorful, and his head hurt. The smell of the food made him nauseous. His heart fluttered in his chest. He was nervous, stressed. "Maybe I should lie down for a bit," he suggested at last, tentatively and politely. 

His mother gave a start, and he saw the flash of worry in her eyes, rendering her smile brittle for a moment. He wasn't the only one who was pretending.

"If you want to lie down, then you can lie down." She smiled at the guests. "Mike's a little tired," she explained.

"No, I'm fine," he protested. Again, he was conscious of being the center of attention. Everyone was staring at him. They were probably feeling sorry for him.

"Don't be silly. It's getting late, anyway." As his mother crossed the floor, pushing his chair in front of her, a low voice called out, rising above the other voices.

"Let me. That oaf's too big for you."

Mike turned with a smile. "Hey, Nile."

"Hi, Mike."

His mother patted Nile on the arm. She looked reluctant to let Mike go, as if afraid that he'd disappear once he was out of sight, but she stepped back from the wheelchair, relinquishing it gracefully. "You come get me at once if he needs anything, Nile."

"Yes, Ma'am, I'll take good care of him."

"See that you do." After a strained pause, she added, absently, "Have fun, boys." It was what she'd always said when they'd gone outside to play together, when they were kids.

The room on the first floor that was serving as Mike's room wasn't the room that had been his when he was a kid. That one was on the second floor, and it was too difficult for him to climb the steps in his current condition. The room where he was sleeping now used to be the guest room, but his parents had brought down some of his things to make it look more like his, which was why he found himself confronting a teenage boy's posters, faced down by Bob Dylan and Clint Eastwood.

"You want me to get you a beer?" was the first question Nile asked.

It was refreshing. He preferred it to being asked about the plane crash, the prison, his health, or the army, but he didn't want a beer. He was lightheaded and sick, and that might make it worse. "No, thanks."

Nile nodded and clapped him on the shoulder, with a surprising gentleness. "Good to see you." They'd already had their first reunion, in the midst of the crowd, but this was the first time they'd spoken alone. He and Nile had enlisted together. They'd fought together.

"You too."

"You asshole," said Nile, "we all thought you were dead."

"I know."

As so many other people had before, Nile gripped him tightly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear me?"

Mike wasn't sure what to say to this. He didn't want to worry anyone. He never had, but what he'd wanted hadn't mattered much in the end. He'd upset everyone he cared about. Guilt made his face heat, although Nile hadn't meant it that way. Nile meant that he'd missed him. Mike understood that logically, but making his emotions understand was another matter. "I'll try."

"Good, you better." Nile released him, the gravity slipping from his voice. "Shit. I thought I'd never see you again." Nile was as lean and sharp as ever, but there was more wear on his face than Mike remembered. "You're gonna see my little girl soon. Thought it would be too much for you and her tonight. You'll have to come by soon. I know Marie wants to have you over."

"I still can't believe you two got married." They were married, and they had a daughter. His friend was a father. Mike was incredulous, but he was smiling. Marie was one of the most lively people in this town, and Nile had liked her since they were kids. It was like a storybook, or a movie. The childhood sweethearts had ended up together.

"Neither can I," said Nile. "She shouldn't have ever said yes."

"She's too good for you."

"That's for damn sure." Nile had gotten his discharge from the Army. He'd gone to the police academy and joined the force. It wasn't the military career he'd spoken of when they were younger, but Mike didn't ask him about that. "I'm the luckiest bastard in this town," Nile said, before adding, "Except for you."

Mike didn't disagree with him, but he didn't feel lucky. It would have been luckier if the plane hadn't crashed. If he'd been found by friendly troops instead of the Viet Cong. There were so many ways things could have gone better, but he could sit and think about that all day, and it wouldn't get him anywhere except lost in his head.

"You haven't seen Erwin yet?"

Instead of his relative luck, Mike focused on this new subject, but it made him feel more anxious rather than less. He glanced down at his hands. They were weathered and knotted and scarred, older than his hands should look at his age, he thought. He wondered if Erwin would think that, that he looked old. "No. I talked to him on the phone. He's flying in tomorrow."

Erwin was Nile's friend, too. The three of them had followed the same course together. Enlistment, the Army, Special Forces, the war. After Mike had been taken prisoner, that course had split. Mike had vanished into the darkness. Nile had continued to serve, but he had left the Army at the first legitimate opportunity, as if eager to return home. Erwin had left after Mike, but much sooner than Nile, after suffering injuries in an attack that were so grave, he'd been removed from combat permanently.

"He's different, you know," said Nile.

Mike looked up. "Different?"

"He changed. You know what they say. War changes some people."

As far as Mike was concerned, it had changed all three of them, but he didn't offer up this opinion. "Yeah."

"He's some kind of hippie peacenik agitator now."

Mike frowned. Nile could exaggerate, and he frequently did, so Mike didn't take his words entirely seriously. 

His phone conversation with Erwin had been relatively brief. "I'll be flying in tomorrow, Mike," he'd said. "That's the soonest I could catch a flight."

It had taken Mike a little while to respond, as he was marveling inwardly over the sound of Erwin's voice. "That's okay. I'll see you then."

Erwin had paused. There were probably things he didn't want to say over the phone, and Mike could understand, because he felt the same way. "It's good to hear your voice again," he said at last.

"Yours, too."

"I--" It wasn't like Erwin to hesitate, so it was strange to hear the catch in his voice, to suddenly become aware that he must have been near tears. "They told you about the arm, didn't they?"

Mike had heard that Erwin had lost an arm in the war. His mother had tried her best to update him on the lives of all his friends, sharing the full extent of her limited knowledge. Erwin had moved out to New York City, and he was doing some kind of work for veterans. "They did," said Mike. "I'm sorry."

"It's nothing, comparatively," said Erwin, a trace of odd amusement in his voice. "I wanted to be sure you knew, so you wouldn't be surprised. I'm fine. I'll see you very soon."

"I'll see you, Erwin."

"I can't wait."

As he'd hung up the phone, Mike had realized that his hands were shaking. He'd pressed them flat against his thighs until they'd stopped. He hadn't wanted his mother to see him like that.

"I wanted to warn you," Nile said, "so you don't have to deal with any unpleasant surprises. I don't want you to be disappointed."

Nile didn't want him to be surprised, either. That warning sounded dire enough that Mike wondered if there was a grain of truth in what Nile was saying, or if he needed to take his words with more grains of salt than usual. "Thanks for looking out for me, Nile." 

If the words were a little sarcastic, Nile fortunately didn't notice. "What are friends for?"

Nile didn't stay too long, clapping him on the back again and saying that he needed his beauty sleep. Mike was be glad to left alone, to rest, but his thoughts didn't leave him in peace, and Nile's words stayed with him. Had Erwin really changed that much? Seven years had passed, during which they'd had no way to contact each other, during which Erwin had believed Mike was dead. Was an unpleasant surprise the reason for Erwin's reticence, or was it a strong emotion, or an unwillingness to have such a conversation over the phone? He'd find out tomorrow. He was both awaiting and dreading their reunion. 

He couldn't talk to Nile about that. There were things he couldn't discuss with Nile. Or with anyone but Erwin.

***

Erwin had been there for him, always. In the prison cells, it had been the same. Cramped and in pain, lying in the darkness and in dirt, Mike had had time to think. He'd needed to think, to stave off despair. Possibly it had been silly of him, or sentimental, but he'd called up the image of Erwin's face so many times, had tried to recall the sound of his voice. He'd seen him smiling, replaying in his mind adventures they'd had together as kids. When they were kids, playing soldiers had been fun. They'd run through the fields laughing until their chests ached. When one of them shot the other, there was no bullet, only the noise of a child's mouth trying to shape what a gunshot sounded like. The one who was shot tumbled to the ground of his own accord, gazing up at the sky with a smile, lost in the long grass.

He and Erwin had been friends through all their years of school, through basic training and into the Army. Nile was Mike's good friend, and he cared about Nile, but he was closer to Erwin than anyone else. It was Erwin he'd conjured up in his head, more often than he'd envisioned his own parents. He'd imagined Erwin standing beside him, leaning down to tell him, _Don't give up, Mike._ Erwin was resilient and determined. If anyone would know how to survive years of deprivation and torture, it would be him.

Mike had survived. He partly credited Erwin with that. He hadn't been there physically, but to Mike, his presence had been real. Now Mike could see him again in person, an event he'd almost given up on witnessing. He wondered if Erwin would have aged a lot, how he would wear his hair. What would he be wearing? Would there be an awkwardness between them, or would it be as if they'd never been apart, that old friendship springing up just like it always was?

Much as he'd tried to be nothing but happy for his friends and family at the party, Mike told himself he should be so happy to see Erwin again. He should be so happy, there should be no room in him for anything else. What he shouldn't be was eaten up by doubts and fears and insecurities. What if Erwin had changed, like Nile had said? Mike hated the thought of a distance separating them, but it had been seven years. Seven years was far longer than they'd been apart in their lives before, because they hadn't known what it was like to be apart. They'd met when they were so young, Mike could hardly remember what had happened on that day. Everything had changed. Erwin had moved away to New York City, and he was a "peacenik", according to Nile. Whatever Nile meant by that. For seven years, Erwin had thought that Mike was dead. 

Erwin wouldn't have forgotten about him, but he would have moved on, as he should have, building a new life that didn't include Mike as anything but a fond memory. That would have been the right thing for Erwin to do, the sensible thing to do, but Mike found that he didn't like that idea very much. He didn't want everyone's lives to have reformed into lives without him. Wouldn't that mean there was no place for him? 

Did Erwin remember? He must have remembered. The way they used to kiss when they were alone, when no one could see. The way they'd lie together in the dark. Mike would wrap his arms around Erwin and breathe in the scent of him. The memory of Erwin's warm skin against his was painful in its intensity. Erwin's kisses trailing down his body. The words they'd whispered to each other at night.

They hadn't told anyone about it. It was a secret. It was dangerous, especially in the Army, but even here at home, what would people think, if they knew about what he and Erwin had done?

It was possible that, with time, Erwin had come to think it was wrong. _It._ Whatever it was. Mike had nothing to call it, because they hadn't given it a name, but it was important to him. His feelings hadn't changed, but it was easy to imagine that Erwin's had, in seven years.

_It_ wasn't the normal thing, and Mike had detected a distance in Erwin's voice. Was that because he was afraid that Mike would say something about it? Or was he waiting for Mike to mention it? Erwin wasn't married. That was a fact. His mother would have mentioned it, if anything like that had happened. Erwin apparently came to visit his mother fairly often, and he stopped by to visit with Mike's parents when he did, so they'd remained in contact with him. That didn't mean there weren't things they didn't know about. Erwin had never been forthcoming, especially not with parents. He was good at keeping secrets. He kept his secrets now, because Mike was unable to fathom them.

It was impossible to figure this out, to chart the events of seven years he'd been excluded from. Only Erwin himself could clarify matters, and trying to guess made his headache worse. He wouldn't find out anything for sure until tomorrow. He wheeled himself across the room and rose slowly and painfully from his chair. He could have rung for help. His mother had given him a bell to ring whenever he needed something, but he wanted to do this for himself. He collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard. He'd done it. He pulled his blanket over his body, though he was still wearing his clothes. The softness of the bed and blanket was foreign to him. It was all too soft. The world wasn't soft. He closed his eyes. He tried not to think of anything, until he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

His mother must have come in to check on him that night, but if she woke him, he didn't remember the interruption the next morning, when he stirred and his eyes finally opened. She must have decided to let him sleep, even fully dressed as he was, because his shirt and pants were undisturbed, the very clothes he had gone to sleep in.

Mike reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Whenever he slept, he had bad dreams. Last night, his plane had fallen, over and over again. Everyone was screaming. Fire spread down his back, sprouting from his shoulder blades like wings. He was burning. He smelled smoke and charred flesh. It choked him. Tears rolled down his face, only to evaporate in the incredible heat. He tried to drop to roll the fire out, but when he did, he found he was falling. He fell through the air endlessly, toward the ground far, far below.

Mike glanced at the bell, sitting silver and silent on his bedside table, but he didn't ring it yet. He pushed and pulled himself back into the wheelchair, then rolled across the floor to the window. He pulled the curtain open and gazed out at the neighbor's house across the way, to remind himself of where he was. The trees were bare of leaves, the sky winter-gray. He wondered if it was going to snow. He'd like to see some snow. Snow made the world look peaceful and pristine, even if it was too cold and hard to shovel. At least no one would be asking him to shovel the drive this year. 

"Mike, are you up?" There was a knock on the door.

"I'm up, Mom."

She took this as an invitation to enter. "Your father's gone to the airport. He wanted to come in and say goodbye before he left, but I told him to let you sleep."

"He could have woken me up." Not that there was any need for his father to say goodbye. He was driving to the airport to pick up Erwin. He'd be coming right back. His parents kept staring at him as if they couldn't believe he was there. His mother was looking at him like that now, wonder written on her face. It must have been hard for them to lose a son. He had no idea what that must be like. He'd died, and then he'd come back from the dead. He could understand why his father might have wanted to say goodbye to him. His father knew what it was like to lose him. He knew what it was like to have someone disappear without being able to say goodbye.

His mother shook her head, firmly. "No, you need your sleep. And you'll want to be well-rested for when Erwin gets here."

His parents knew Erwin and his family well. At times, he'd been like a second son to them, spending hours of every day at their house. Erwin's family used to live two houses down, but they'd moved to the other side of town when Erwin was in high school, after his father had died. Roseville was so small that that distance hadn't meant anything but longer bike rides.

Now there was a long drive and a longer plane ride between them, meaning that seeing Erwin would be a matter of many hours, not minutes. He couldn't exactly ride to visit Erwin every day while he was living in New York City. That was another factor that had changed, and one he didn't enjoy thinking about. He shouldn't focus on the hollow feeling that welled up when he dwelled on that distance. He should focus on the happy fact that Erwin would be here soon. Mike tried to occupy himself, hoping that the time before Erwin's arrival would pass faster that way. To avoid staring out the front window at the street, he moved as far from the window as possible, trying to keep his back to it. He listened to his records, but the music washed right over him without getting in his ears. His mother made him a sandwich, and that succeeded in distracting him for a few minutes, but those minutes were over all too quickly.

Eventually, he grew quiet and sat facing the wall of his bedroom, the bedroom that wasn't really his. He was used to sitting and staring for hours on end. Usually, he couldn't go anywhere. He'd been kept in solitary confinement for months at a stretch. He'd had no company but his own thoughts and the stench of human filth. He'd thought about his parents. He'd thought about his friends. He'd thought about Erwin. Or he hadn't thought at all, letting his mind drift unfettered by any ideas. Today, he could leave his room. He could go anywhere he wanted. He'd need help with the stairs and the chair, but if he asked, his mother would help him and make sure he reached his destination. He could go--but he didn't. He stayed where he was.

He started when the doorbell rang, then glanced immediately at the clock. No, it couldn't be Erwin. It was too soon for him to be here, and why would Dad ring the bell before coming in?

"Mike, a friend's here to see you." His mother tapped on his door. "Are you feeling up to company?"

He wasn't sure if he was up to it or not, since he wasn't any more at ease about Erwin's inevitable arrival, but he answered, "Sure." He didn't want to disappoint a friend.

When the bedroom door opened, a blonde head peeked in. "Hi, Mike."

He couldn't suppress a smile in response. "Hi, Nan."

Nan smiled back. They'd already had their initial reunion. She'd been at the dinner last night, too. In the crowd, with everyone vying to talk to him or talk about him in his presence, he hadn't had much opportunity for private conversations, other than his brief talk with Nile. He'd spoken to Nan, and they'd exchanged pleasantries, but nothing too personal. She looked around the room, then looked at him. "It's so good to see you again," she said. "But I bet everyone's been telling you that all the time."

"True," he agreed. "But I don't mind hearing it."

"Then I'll have to keep telling you." Her hair was much shorter than it had been when they were younger, cropped at ear-length. She was dressed simply, in dark slacks and a white shirt. She carried a large bag with her, and Mike peered at it as she held it forward. "I brought you something."

He could see into the bag without too much trouble. "Books."

"That's right. I know you like to read--" There was a slight, but noticeable hesitation. "You always did," she said, as if to reassure herself that this was true. There it was between them: seven years of absence, and before that, his time in the service. Unspoken, but present, was the idea that they didn't know each other anymore, to the extent that she wasn't entirely sure if he still liked to read.

_War changes some people_ , Nile had said. It was true. He was changed. But not entirely. He nodded. "I could use some good books. Thanks." He couldn't remember when he'd last had the time to sit down with a real, satisfying read. Since being set free, people had given him magazines to read, but that wasn't the same thing.

"I tried to pick out as many I could from the time you've been gone. That way, you can catch up on some of the things you missed. They're all from the library, but you can keep them as long as you like."

Nan worked at the library now. She'd told him that last night. It sounded like a good job to have, spending all your time with books. Everyone was an adult now, with adult lives and jobs. Some of them, like Nile, were married, with children. That had happened while Mike was gone. He did have a lot to catch up on. Nan wasn't married. There were no rings on her fingers. She wasn't wearing any jewelry. "Do you like it?" he asked. "Working there?"

"It's a nice place," she said.

Was that the same as liking it? She set his new borrowed books down on the floor by his desk, and he wished that he knew more about what her life was like now. A lot of things must have happened in seven years. Her life had been less taxing than his, but it would have had its triumphs and its tragedies, and he knew next to nothing about them. They used to be close. They were similar in some ways, both quiet and serious. Once, they had dated, but that had been a long time ago, when they were both kids. They hadn't thought they were kids at the time, but looking back, he saw that they had been. They'd held hands and shared ice cream. It had been sweet, but it could have been that they'd thought that dating was what a boy and a girl were supposed to do when they liked each other. He wondered if there was someone she liked in a different way, if she was happy, but he didn't feel he knew her well enough to ask her those questions. He should have, but he didn't. Was it going to be this way with everyone he used to know? He hated that thought, and it did nothing to ease his worries about the coming reunion with Erwin.

They talked for a little while longer, about nothing in particular, but she might have sensed the change in his mood, because she soon said, "I don't want to tire you out too much."

"I'm all right." He wasn't tired. Erwin's imminent arrival had infused him with a nervous energy, instead. He was more jittery than sleepy, but he did his best not to show it, remaining calm and still in the wheelchair. "Erwin's going to be here soon." Then, more out of politeness than a sincere wish for her to remain, he offered, "you could stay and say hi."

She shook her head. "Oh, I should get to work. I asked for the morning off so I could bring you these books, but I do have to go. Besides, I don't want to intrude on your reunion with Erwin. You two were always such good friends."

"Right." That was how everyone saw them, as good friends. Best friends. Was that what they were? Were they something else? He wanted to know the answer, but the answer wouldn't necessarily be the answer he wanted.

"I see Erwin whenever he comes home to visit his mom, so it hasn't been that long." Unlike Nile, she displayed no reservations about Erwin. The prospect of visiting with him must have been pleasant, from the way she smiled. If Erwin came home often, then Mike could see him more often.

Mike nodded, although he hadn't been aware of the frequency of Erwin's visits.

"I'll see you soon," she said. "We're neighbors again, right?"

"Neighbors. I like that."

***

Mike was trying not to pay attention to the sounds from the street, but he heard the car pull up. He knew what it meant and turned toward the window. He was very aware of the movement of his heart in his chest. It was pounding fast, and it hurt. He rolled the wheelchair forward. His palms were damp with sweat. What if this was too much for him? What if he couldn't bear it? He could see the street from his window. His father got out first, followed shortly by Erwin.

From this distance, Erwin's appearance wasn't significantly altered from the last time Mike had seen him. His hair was longer, no more military-short cut, but otherwise, he was the same: his posture polished, his face youthful, his hair gold. He looked nothing like Mike's conception of a hippie, as Nile had warned he'd become. If he could be said to have changed, it was a change of increased rather than decreased neatness. He was positively gleaming. There was no readable expression on his face, not that Mike could see from where he sat.

The right thing to do, Mike told himself, would be to head toward the front door to meet him, but he wasn't able to carry out such a small yet significant action. The most he could do was turn his wheelchair so it faced the door to his room and roll a tentative foot or so forward. Once there, he waited, gripping the arms of his wheelchair.

The expected events transpired. His mother told him that Erwin was here. She came into his room, and his dad and Erwin followed. Up close, Erwin was revealed a more changed. His face was older, thinner, and there were faint scars visible on his skin. His right arm hung stiffly at his side, and Mike reminded himself again that Erwin had lost it in combat. It was a fake arm. Mike knew he must have looked far more different to Erwin. He'd seen himself in the mirror. He had more scars than Erwin did. He had wasted away, and he was only beginning to recover. If Erwin felt sorry for him, or was upset, he didn't show it. He smiled.

Erwin was carrying a bag, much as Nan had been. He put it down, next to the books Nan had left. Mike hadn't thought to rehearse what he'd say to Erwin, or to guess what Erwin would say. Mike was used to speech being natural and easy between them, but they didn't say anything at first. They regarded each other in stunned silence. Months ago, Mike had been certain he'd never see Erwin again. Erwin had believed he was dead. They were both facing the impossible.

"We'll leave you boys alone," said his mother brightly, looking from Mike to Erwin. "You have a lot to catch up on." She hurried out, dragging Mike's father along with her.

Mike was grateful for his parents' departure, but not entirely. Part of him wished they'd stay. It might be easier to talk to Erwin with them present, or easier to avoid talking about more complicated, intimidating subjects. He could have called them back, but he didn't. They left, shutting the door behind him, and he was alone with Erwin.

They continued to stare at each other, but the standoff couldn't last. One of them had to act. Mike told himself to say something, but every one of his words was suddenly stuck in his throat. It was Erwin who spoke first. "Mike." Before Mike had time to react, Erwin had crossed the space between them. His left arm was sliding around him, pulling him close, his mouth pressed against the top of Mike's head as he kissed his hair. "Mike, Mike, God, it's really you." His voice shook, and Mike realized he was crying. 

Erwin hardly ever cried. Mike had seen him cry as a child, but the older he'd grown, the less tears had come. He'd rarely cried in the military. They had witnessed horrors, but Erwin's eyes had barely been wet. He hadn't wept like this once, openly and unrestrainedly. He kept saying Mike's name, and Mike brought up his hands, settling them on Erwin's back. He closed his eyes. He didn't want Erwin to cry, but he wished they could stay close like this. He breathed in deeply. Erwin's scent was familiar, but altered. It was that well-known, remembered scent underneath, but his clothes, his cleaners, all the surface elements had shifted. Like his face: the same, but different.

"I'm sorry," said Erwin. "I didn't know. If I'd known, I would have..."

Mike opened his eyes, shifting in Erwin's grasp. "You couldn't have done anything."

"I would have done whatever I could. I would have tried."

Mike ran his hands slowly over Erwin's back, to convince himself of the reality of his form and firmness. "I'm glad you're safe. That's all." Erwin almost certainly would have died if he'd gone rushing off in an attempt to save him.

Erwin released his grip and drew back in order to look down at Mike's face, their gazes meeting again. "You're perfect," he said. His hand settled on Mike's chin, sliding over the stubble there.

"I don't know about that, Erwin." Considering how he looked, he was hardly about to enter any beauty pageants.

"Don't argue with me." Erwin smiled again, although tears stood on his face.

"All right. I won't." Mike felt self-conscious again, as he had when the reporters had talked to him, made uneasy by such close attention and focus. It was Erwin focused on him this time, so it wasn't as bad, but the way Erwin was watching him--he'd never looked at him like that before. There were so many emotions in his eyes that Mike couldn't sort them out or name them all. 

What did that mean about how Erwin felt about him? Did he feel like they used to, when they would lie together upstairs, in this same house, in his old room? They used to kiss each other for ages, hardly daring to shift in the bed or to make a noise, for fear that Mike's parents would hear and would realize what they were doing. He'd felt like he could kiss Erwin forever. Mike had thought the loudest sound of all must have been the beating of his heart, which had thundered in his head. No matter how loud it was, his parents had never heard. They'd never been found out. 

Erwin was the only other person in the world who knew about those things, because he'd never told anyone. Erwin's hand moved up into his hair, stroking it. Mike wished they could lie in bed together and kiss as feverishly as they used to, but he wasn't about to ask for that aloud. He wasn't yet sure about where he stood with Erwin. 

"Absolutely perfect," Erwin said, decisively. "I hope you don't mind that I'm going to monopolize all your time now."

"I don't mind." He didn't. If given a choice, he would choose to stay with Erwin all the time. Erwin would have to go back home, but he was here today, and Mike wanted to spend as much time as he could with him. "You can stay as long as you want."

"I missed you, Mike."

"I did, too." They were obvious words to say, but the right words didn't exist. There was no way to accurately convey what he was feeling with mere spoken syllables. No words were strong enough, or complex enough.

Mike kept his eyes on Erwin's face. There was a softness there, a gentleness, that he remembered from when they were boys, but which he hadn't seen in far longer than seven years. It had started to erode when Erwin's father died, and by the time they were in Vietnam, it had all but vanished. A picture of Erwin surfaced in Mike's mind: the thick foliage of the jungle dark and treacherous at his back, sweat gleaming on his face. He had been scanning their surroundings with an alertness that was almost inhuman in its fixity. His eyes had been cold, absolutely clear and absolutely cold.

There was no coldness, but only warmth in his voice when he spoke ext. "I brought you something. Just a little thing..." Erwin pulled his hand back at last, the reluctance in the gesture clear. He turned to the bag he'd put down. He leaned down and pulled out a handful of records, then presented them to Mike. "It's all the Dylan albums you missed."

Mike reached out for them. "There were so many," he said, quietly. He hadn't thought about it, but it was like anything else he'd missed: there was a lot of it. Piles of books. Stacks of records. Years of life. Bob Dylan had been his favorite singer since he'd first heard one of his albums back in '63. He'd been deeply impressed, and startled, in the way that maybe only teenagers could be impressed by music. Dylan had seemed so clever and sincere, and so free, with his wild hair and his easy manner. Mike had had trouble expressing himself since he was a child, and he'd wanted to be more like that. More outspoken, more cool. He wasn't a very cool guy.

"You still like Dylan, right?" Erwin asked, and Mike realized he'd been staring blankly down at the albums in his hands, not unlike the way he'd been staring at Erwin not long before.

"Yeah. I still like Dylan, and I still like books." Did everyone expect him to be a different person? He was, in some ways, but he was Mike, too. "I like all the same things." As he said this, he swallowed, his grip on the records tightening. He was thinking of Erwin, and of how he felt about Erwin, but there was something else, too. He flushed with shame at the unexpected memory of searing pain lancing across his thighs. The pain of hot iron, pressed into old wounds. The heat intensified to a burn that they told him wouldn't end, not until he talked. So he'd talked. He'd stammered out a confession, anything to make them stop, begging them to take the heat away. He would have said anything. He'd said things about the war, about his country, his fellow soldiers. He'd betrayed them.

"Mike? What's wrong?" Erwin's hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing him lightly.

Mike shook his head. He didn't want to talk about that. He shouldn't think about it. It was in the past. "It's nothing. I'm glad to see you, Erwin."

"If you're sure. You can tell me anything."

He nodded. "I'm sure. I like the records. Thanks."

Erwin didn't appear reassured, but he didn't press. "Should I put one on?"

"Okay. Start with whatever one came first." If he was going to catch up on everything, he might as well start from the beginning. It would be easier to keep track of everything that way.

"That would be Blonde on Blonde, I think." He took it from Mike's hands, then made his way to the record player. "They're not new," he said. 

Mike had noticed that the covers were a little worn, and that they weren't wrapped in plastic, but he hadn't thought much of it.

"I bought every one as soon as it came out," said Erwin, with his back to Mike as he fiddled with the record. Mike wondered if he should offer to help, since Erwin was missing an arm, but he hadn't asked for help. The false arm was able to move, he saw, though its movements were stiff and less sure. "I knew you would have done the same. I used to think that, if you could only hear them--" He broke off, and a few moments passed before he continued. "That you'd like them," he concluded, simply.

"I'm glad I get to hear them." 

The record started, but even though it was new music by his favorite singer, Mike found it was a challenge to pay any attention to it. Erwin was taking up all his focus. Erwin turned back to him. Mike could see fresh tears on his face. "So am I."

"I should have listened to what he said," said Mike.

"Who?"

"Dylan, I mean. His songs about the war. If I'd listened, then everything might be better now."

"Don't blame yourself." Erwin came to him again, bending down in front of his his chair. He was so close, and he smelled so good. This time, Mike couldn't restrain himself. The pull that Erwin exerted on him was too great. He kissed him, turning his head so that his lips met Erwin's, his hands pulling him close as his tongue pressed at his lips. He wanted him, as much as he ever had, if not more.

Erwin kissed him back. For a moment, he did, his lips parting, his tongue brushing against Mike's. But then he pulled away, breaking the kiss before breaking contact altogether. He stood over Mike, regarding him gravely, and as soon as Mike saw the apology on his face, he knew something was wrong. He'd made a mistake. His stomach sank, and his gaze sought the floor. "I'm sorry."

"No," said Erwin. "Mike, look at me." Mike's attention remained stubbornly fixed on the floor, but Erwin took him by his chin and lifted his face, until Mike had no choice but to look into his eyes again. "I don't want you to apologize to me. You didn't do anything wrong." The gentleness Mike had seen in him had evaporated, if only temporarily. He was emphatic, fierce. Now that Mike was looking at Erwin again, he couldn't look away.

"I want you to listen to me," said Erwin. "I can't put off telling you, and I don't want to lie to you. I'm in a relationship with someone else."

Mike nodded. It wasn't exactly a surprise. It had been seven years, and Erwin was--well, he was Erwin. He was charming and good-looking and intelligent, and it stood to reason that someone would want to be with him. Like Mike did.

"But Mike, it's not because of you, because of anything you did. It's not because I care less about you. I want you to understand that. It's different, but it's not any less."

He understood. Erwin's feelings had changed over time. He wanted to be with someone else. That was good, in theory. When someone died, you were supposed to move on, to accept that they were gone and wouldn't be coming back. You had to get on with your life, eventually. Mike would have wanted Erwin to be happy again someday, if he'd died, to love someone else. The problem with that idea was that he wasn't actually dead. Not that Erwin had known that, so it wasn't as if he'd done anything wrong. He'd done what people did. They carried on; they built new lives when the old ones fell apart. Everyone seemed to have done that in his absence. Mike wasn't sure how they'd done it. It struck him as a difficult thing to do, nearly impossible. "All right," he said.

"All right?" asked Erwin.

Mike made himself nod.

Erwin sighed. He knelt before Mike's wheelchair. "Mike, it isn't all right. I know that. You don't have to pretend that it is." He placed his hand very carefully on Mike's knee, as if he were afraid of hurting him. "I apologize for not telling you right away. I couldn't tell you on the phone. I wasn't sure how you'd feel. It's been so long. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I don't feel any different," said Mike. "About that."

"I see." Erwin was studying his face, and Mike saw that Erwin, for all his assurance and confidence, must have been as uncertain as he was. Back then, they had acted without speaking, without either of them explaining to the other what he thought he was doing, what he was thinking. They had been rash and foolish and young. They'd never said anything like a girl and a boy would have: that they were dating, that they were boyfriends--if that was what two men called it. Mike didn't know a lot about that. People didn't talk about it, not at home, and he and Erwin had never spoken about it to anyone in the Army.

Mike wished that his words would make Erwin say that he felt the same too, that he was going to leave this other person and come back to Mike, but he didn't say that. There was a thoughtful look on his face, a faint frown that drew a slight line between his eyebrows, a look that had frequently appeared on his face before a mission. Erwin was the kind of person who spoke up and stated his opinion. He had a voice and ideas that people listened to. Mike admired that about them. More than once, during the war, his ideas had saved their lives. Whatever idea he might have come up with now, he didn't do anything with it. He kept it to himself.

"I live with him," said Erwin slowly, "in the city. We've lived together for two years now. I'm telling you this because I want you to know everything about my life. You're part of it."

Mike blinked. It was unexpected, to hear that Erwin was with another man. The two of them had been together, yes, but to Mike, that had felt like a special, unique connection between the two of them. Mike liked girls, too, and he'd assumed the same was true of Erwin. He'd guessed that if he wasn't with Mike, he'd probably be with a girl. He had been wrong about that, and it was unsettling, to have been so wrong about a matter concerning Erwin, the person he felt he knew better than anyone else in the world.

"But that's enough about that for now. I'd rather talk about you. This, today. This is about us."

There were so many things Mike wanted to say. He wanted to say that he loved Erwin, that he always would, that Erwin should be with him, and not someone else. He wanted to know who this other man was, and why Erwin liked him so much. He wished he could say something poetic and true that would change the situation. He had known Erwin first. He had been in love with him first. It wasn't fair. If only he could state that it wasn't fair, in such a way that Erwin would see he was right.

He was never much good at talking, and he was less so now. He placed his hand on Erwin's. He worried that Erwin might pull away from the touch, but he didn't. Instead, he turned his hand and closed his fingers around Mike's. He held him like that. A Dylan song that Mike couldn't name played in the background. If things could stay like this, it might not be so bad. He could pretend, as long as they didn't let go. They stayed like that together for a while, unspeaking, their hands clasped, but eventually, there was a knock on the door, and Erwin released him, rising to his feet.

Mike's mom came in, to ask them if they wanted lunch. Smiling, Erwin transformed into his polished, polite persona, the favorite of mothers everywhere, and said that he'd been waiting for her cooking. Mike tried to transform as well, into someone whose heart hadn't been broken. He wasn't as good at transformations as Erwin, but no one expected him to be like Erwin. He could be quiet, and no one would think anything of it. He was the quiet one.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike survived the rest of the day. He'd survived much worse, and it was easy to forget, in Erwin's company, that Erwin loved someone else. That Erwin wanted to live with someone else and would be going home to be with them. Erwin could make him forget, for a little while. Erwin knew how to make him laugh. He joked with Mike's parents, and he told stories about New York. There were points at which Mike felt like his old self. He became human again. He liked that feeling, but it kept fading out, because he couldn't hold off the truth permanently. It kept creeping back in.

"And then he pulled hard on my arm, which came off in his hand," said Erwin, finishing up one of his anecdotes, sitting back and smiling at the others gathered around the coffee table with him. "While he was staring, I hit him in the stomach with my other hand. Then I grabbed my arm and left. It must have been very painful for him. I hope he'll be more cautious about who he tries to assault, in future."

"Is New York really as bad as they say?" asked Mike's mother, leaning forward. She liked to travel, but she'd never been very far. She and Dad had been to California on their honeymoon, and they'd traveled to a number of national parks for family summer vacations, but they couldn't go as far as they wanted, or leave as often as they'd like. Mike was the member of the family who'd travelled the farthest, and he often wished he hadn't. Roseville was safe. It was comfortable. Events like Erwin was describing didn't happen in Roseville.

"No, it's not as bad as it's made out to be. That was an isolated incident, but it can be bad, at certain times and in certain areas. I haven't had too much trouble, though you have to be careful."

Mike had the sense, as he listened, that there were things Erwin was deliberately not mentioning, stories left untold. He couldn't say _how_ he knew. It must have been a sense he had, after knowing Erwin so long, after growing up with him, then training and fighting with him. He had a way of detecting his maneuvers. The lost seven years didn't negate what had come before. The omissions could have been related to his relationship. It wasn't as if Mike expected Erwin to tell his parents that he was living with a man, yet he didn't think that that alone could explain what he sensed. It was as if Erwin had decided there were matters the people left behind in this small town wouldn't appreciate or understand.

That wasn't fair, if it was true. The people in Roseville weren't backward. They weren't perfect, but there were good and bad and in between here, as there were anywhere. Roseville was on a much smaller scale, but it was part of the world. He hoped Erwin wasn't looking down on the people he'd left behind. As Mike had no proof of this, only vague suspicions, he couldn't fault Erwin for it, but he wondered. He tried to make himself give Erwin the benefit of the doubt, but it was hard, when his new wounds were still stinging. He didn't feel like being charitable.

"You'd like it there," Erwin said, turning to Mike suddenly.

Mike wasn't too sure of that. He was slightly taken aback, every time Erwin directed the conversation to focus on him. He was the returning war hero, yes, but he didn't need to be the focus of everyone's attention all the time. "I like it better in the country."

"How can you say that, if you haven't been to the city?" Erwin wasn't upset by this refusal, acting as if it were a joke, but it wasn't.

"I've been to some cities."

"You should go visit Erwin sometime, Mike," his mother was quick to say.

"Well..." He couldn't say that he didn't want to go, because he couldn't explain to his parents _why_ he didn't want to go. Erwin wasn't the only one omitting things, was he? It was hard to imagine himself in New York City. Most of all, he didn't want to see Erwin with someone else, but the push of people and the rush of traffic didn't appeal to him either. The clatter of the subways, the riot of graffiti, the unfriendly people--nothing he'd heard about New York endeared it to him. It was the place that had taken Erwin from him.

No, that wasn't true. It was the war that had done that, but New York was keeping him away now. He wanted things to blame. Blaming something like a city didn't carry with it the weight and discomfort that blaming Erwin did.

"When he's feeling better, he can come visit," said Erwin, and Mike was annoyed at being spoken for. Ordinarily, he'd want to go to where Erwin was, but this wasn't ordinary.

"Maybe," he said, stubbornly.

"You'd have fun, I know," said his mother, misinterpreting his reluctance as nervousness. "You could visit the Statue of Liberty. Have you been there, Erwin?"

"No, I haven't gone to the island, myself, but I've seen it from a distance."

"After teaching the kids about it in class for so long," she said, "I'd love to see it for myself. There are so many historical sites. We could all go together."

"Okay, Mom." It wasn't that Mike didn't like the idea of seeing the Statue of Liberty, but he had more important things on his mind. His mother was a history teacher, however, and she took her job very seriously. She had taken time off from work to stay home and take care of him, but he had already seen her with her lesson plans, or curled up with one of the newest presidential biographies from the library.

"Sarah," said his father, for once speaking up, with a shake of his head, "I'm sure the boys don't want you tagging along." He didn't often contribute to conversations unprovoked, but his interjections tended to be on the doubtful side.

"I'd love to have you there, Mrs. Zacharius," said Erwin, unhesitatingly.

"See, Erwin would love to have me!"

She sounded so enthusiastic that everyone laughed, even Mike, as some of the tension in his body flowed from him along with the laughter. His mother asked Erwin more about the city, not only its landmarks, but its people. She wanted to know details, from stories of skyscrapers to everyday minutiae. Erwin obliged her, carefully avoiding any mention of his personal life, but the conversation meandered from subject to subject, as conversations did. It eventually came out that during last night's festivities, his parents had been more than a little overzealous in preparing food and giving it away. In order to have enough for four people to eat for dinner, they'd have to make their way to the grocery store. They had no choice in the matter. 

His mother and father insisted on going together and on leaving Mike and Erwin behind. It was simple enough to guess what they were thinking. They thought he'd prefer spending more time alone with Erwin to being dragged out to the grocery store. They were partly right. They left, his mother waving and saying they'd be back soon, and his father yet again sincerely saying goodbye, as if he half-feared it would be the last time. Then it was just him and Erwin again.

Mike didn't know what to say, at first, so he returned to a topic from their earlier conversation. "You've really never been to the Statue of Liberty?"

Erwin hesitated. Mike wasn't sure what he could be thinking about, what ideas the Statue of Liberty could have brought up that had made him pause and think before speaking. He used to know what Erwin's reactions meant. Until he'd been captured, they'd spent almost every day together for most of their lives, apart from some vacations and some missions. He'd known all the associations and references Erwin would make, but that was no longer true. Maybe that other man would have known why Erwin hesitated. "No, I haven't," Erwin said finally. "Someday."

As the thought of the other man had inevitably resurfaced in his mind, Mike couldn't resist his curiosity, his urge to know more about the person who'd replaced him. Now it was his turn to hesitate, as he wasn't sure how to bring it up, but after a painful few seconds, he blurted a question. "Is it someone I know?" he asked.

Erwin looked up and grew thoughtful at the sudden change in conversation, but he immediately knew what Mike meant. Mike could tell, because he went along with the new topic without comment. "No, you don't know him. He didn't serve in the Army. I met him after I was discharged, in the city."

Initially, Mike wasn't sure if that was better or worse, but he decided he would rather Erwin be with someone he didn't know than with one of their friends from the Army. It made the relationship an entirely separate matter, which he could distance himself from, and he didn't have to worry about resenting a friend. He could resent a person he didn't know more easily, with less of the pain of guilt. The man could be a distant stranger who was no part of Mike's life. Except that wasn't true. If he was going to be close to Erwin again, he'd have to know this person, or know about him. "What's his name?"

"Levi." He said this name with no expression on his face, then added, "We don't have to talk about him."

"No, it's fine, Erwin." It wasn't, but he wanted to know more.

Erwin studied Mike's face, searching his eyes, then acquiesced. "You can ask me whatever you want."

"I don't know what to ask--what's he do?"

"He's a physical therapist. He works at a VA hospital in New York. That's how I met him."

While Mike was considering this new fact and trying to conjure up a mental image of the man based on it, Erwin added, "We were friends for a while, before..." Mike understood what he meant. If they'd met at the VA hospital, that probably hadn't been long after Erwin was discharged from the Army. He'd lost his arm less than a year after Mike had been captured. If they'd started up a relationship soon, it would have meant that Erwin had replaced him quickly. It hadn't been like that, right? According to Erwin, it had been a while. He wondered what that meant, "a while". How long was a while, and how many whiles had passed for Erwin? It had seemed to Mike like ages had passed, first in the camp, and then in prison. Erwin had experienced the same number of years. If their situations had been reversed; if Erwin had been taken and he had gone home, would Mike have found someone else? He wanted to say that he wouldn't have, but he couldn't say for sure, because he'd never been in that situation.

Erwin had left for New York almost right away, his mother had told him. He'd spent as little time as possible in Roseville. He'd just gone. Although they'd met some people from that area in the service, he'd had no close friends living there, as far as Mike knew. "Why'd you go?" Mike asked.

"You mean why I went to the city?" Erwin asked.

"Yeah."

"It was complicated," said Erwin, his eyes on Mike's face again, wearing a serious, searching expression that was beginning to become familiar to Mike, an expression he didn't remember from before. "But I didn't belong here anymore."

It was hard for Mike to imagine moving away. This was the only home he knew. He'd spent time in other places while in the service, but this was the town he returned to, the place he thought of when he thought of home. His family lived here, and his friends. It was the setting of his childhood memories.

"It's hard on my mother," said Erwin, "but I try to visit her as often as I can, even if money is tight. So I'll keep coming back." 

"Good. I want to see you." He wished Erwin lived here. It would be simpler for everyone, as well as easier on his mother. Nile had stayed, and Nan, and Marie, and other kids from their year in school. Why not Erwin?

"You'll see me," said Erwin, smiling again. "More than you'd like, maybe." There was self-depreciation in the tone of his voice, wryness in the narrowing of his eyes. "I should tell you something, though. I lied before."

Mike didn't respond to that. He continued to listen, fingers sliding over the arm of his wheelchair. Erwin didn't often lie to him, or he hadn't, in the past. He didn't like the idea, but he was made more curious than upset by it.

"It wasn't exactly a lie, but when I told that story about being attacked--it was at a rally, and I was assaulted by a policeman. I didn't think your parents would appreciate that aspect of the story, but I don't intend to lie to you about anything."

"You were fighting with the cops?"

"That's right. You could say I have some new interests." Erwin continued to smile, speaking lightly as if Mike was telling him he had taken up tennis or had a new favorite food. When Mike didn't say anything at once, the smile faded. "What are you thinking?"

Mike didn't answer the question, because it was hard to put his thoughts into words, but he wasn't angry. "What were you protesting?" 

"I wanted everyone to come home. I wanted them to stop killing people for no reason."

Mike's grip tightened on the arm of his wheelchair. He was uncomfortable, but he couldn't say why. He wasn't upset with Erwin. He didn't think he would run out and join a protest, but people had the right to express their opinions. That was one of the things he'd believed he was fighting for. That didn't bother him. What was it, then? It could have been the idea that it had been for no reason, that he had lost seven years of his life for absolutely nothing.

"Mike."

Erwin had risen to his feet. He was leaning forward, his hand resting on Mike's cheek again. Mike was surprised. He hadn't been aware that Erwin had moved. Had he lost track of what was happening around him? "Sorry, Erwin."

"I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I keep doing that."

Mike nodded. For as much as Erwin had changed, he had changed, too. He'd never been so easily upset. He'd never lost himself in his thoughts to this extent. He found it hard to focus on the present, or to believe that it was real, at certain points. He was nervous and unhappy. Part of him had hoped that when he went home, he'd go back to himself, too, that he'd find his old self here, waiting for him. That hadn't happened.

"It was too much," said Erwin, his thumb sliding back and forth over Mike's cheek, just below his cheekbone. "Let's talk about something else."

Mike didn't know what else to talk about. Without thinking, he turned his head so that his lips met Erwin's hand. Erwin's hand stilled. Mike kissed his fingers. He wasn't supposed to, but he found himself doing so anyway. He expected Erwin to pull his hand back at once, but he didn't. As he wasn't being denied, Mike pressed his lips to Erwin's palm and closed his eyes, wishing he could be allowed to stay like that, although it was impossible. It was going to end. Yet Erwin took his time ending it. He remained silent, leaving his hand where it was for what must have been at least five minutes, unspeaking. When he broke the strange kiss, it was lingeringly, his hand sliding away slowly and up into Mike's hair before retreating entirely.

"I'm going to make mistakes," said Erwin. "But I want to do what's best for you."

_Then come back here, to me_ , Mike wanted to say, but he didn't say it. He blinked, then wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I think I should leave for a few hours, give you some time," said Erwin.

Mike wasn't sure if he wanted Erwin to stay or go. Erwin's presence was upsetting him, but he wanted Erwin near him. It could be that Erwin was right, and that it would help him to have some time out of Erwin's presence in which to sort through this surplus of new information. "But you'll come back."

"I'll stay for dinner. I don't want to disappoint your parents. Then I'll go home for a while. How's that sound? I want to do what makes you most comfortable."

"That sounds okay." He felt a little better, as Erwin's planning was reassuring and familiar. He had a way of directing situations, a habit which could be infuriating, but this was a time when he needed direction. Oddly enough, it made him feel like he was being taken care of, and he was grateful. He wanted to kiss Erwin's hand again, but he couldn't ask for that.

"Good. Then it's decided."

He made it through dinner. He didn't get upset again, and he didn't cry. He was able to smile. He didn't join in much when his parents and Erwin joked around, but he chuckled a few times. After dinner, Erwin made his polite excuses, saying that he had to check in on his mother, and that he couldn't keep her waiting. Mike's parents didn't notice anything off, and there were no signs of strain or upset in Erwin's voice or manner. Erwin was the one who was good at hiding things.

Erwin had rarely lied to him directly, but he had hidden things from him more than once, when they were young. He would come out with things suddenly, and Mike would be surprised by the fact that Erwin had been carrying around a secret, with no hint of it showing in his clear eyes. These secrets might be good things or simple things, like birthday presents or the fact that they were having pizza for lunch, but they could be more than that.

Erwin used to lie down on Mike's bed after school. He'd come home with Mike, and then once they were alone in his room, he'd throw himself down on the mattress, with an air more casual and laid back than he'd show to anyone else. He had a way of commandeering the bed, the room, so that Mike felt like he was the visitor, instead of the one the room belonged to. It was a simple act, lying down on someone's bed, but it became a habit that continued into high school. Once they were in high school, those hours spent in his room after school were one of the few times he had a chance to glimpse Erwin so at ease. Erwin had grown up early, and he'd grown serious. 

When Erwin made himself at home, Mike had to find a place for himself. He would sit in his chair, some days, watching Erwin lie down, but other times, he'd lie down beside his friend. They'd lie down like they did when they were boys, resting in the grass after a long run, lying where they'd collapsed. That one particular day, the day Erwin had revealed his secret, they'd been lying side by side, their arms touching, breathing in unison.

"Mike," said Erwin, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said Mike, who didn't care for prefacing questions with questions asking about questions--that roundabout way of speaking was more Erwin's style.

"I don't want you to be mad."

Mike blinked. Nothing about their current situation had suggested Erwin confessing something that could upset him. Was it going to be a joke, or something silly like that? Erwin was serious, and careful and controlled, but he would make strange jokes, too, often delivered with what appeared to be sincere gravity. "I won't be," Mike promised easily, because he couldn't see himself being truly mad at Erwin.

"What would you say if I kissed you?" The question was so polite and so evenly delivered that it took Mike a few rapidly passing seconds to realize what Erwin had said.

Mike didn't know what he'd say, because at once, all the words left his head. It took him some time to gather them back up. "You mean--on the cheek?"

"No."

"Then..." He was helpless, blindsided by this question that he hadn't seen coming, yet which couldn't have risen from nowhere, spontaneously. Erwin had to have thought of it beforehand. It hadn't sprung from his mouth by magic. "Like--a girl?"

"Except I'm not a girl." Erwin's voice was steady, but it was very quiet. The whole house was quiet. The whole world might have been quiet, because for Mike, in that moment, their voices and their arms touching were the only things in the world.

"No, you're not."

"You think it's weird, don't you?" Erwin was lying still, neither moving toward him nor away from him.

"It's weird, Erwin." He couldn't deny that. For boys to talk about kissing each other, that was weird.

"I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again."

Mike could have let it pass. He could have said nothing, and Erwin probably wouldn't have brought it up again, but Erwin's question had put the idea into his head. What if Erwin kissed him? What would that be like? A lifetime of memories of Erwin took on a new significance. His smile, his laughter, the way he frowned when he was angry, or when he was concentrating. His blond hair falling forward into his face. His breath, warm against Mike's ear as he leaned in to whisper something he didn't want anyone else to hear. The scent of his skin, warm and bright, like soil and spring and sunshine, not that sunshine really had a smell. His long limbs, now resting tense at Mike's side. Mike felt like someone had inserted something small and hard and unbearably painful into his chest, right next to his heart. "It's... okay."

"Okay?"

"I'd probably say it's okay," said Mike, as his throat constricted, threatening to prevent him from saying the words. He didn't know why everything hurt, why he was so confused and his body ached with heat. They were both boys, and they weren't supposed to kiss each other, going by everything he'd known before that point: the point at which Erwin had asked him what he'd say if Erwin kissed him.

Erwin must have have been thinking about it in silence for days or weeks, even months, but Mike had had no idea. It was the first time Mike realized that Erwin could hide important things from him, too. Erwin's hand settled on his, his fingers twining with Mike's. "Then I can kiss you?"

Maybe he could have said something meaningful or eloquent, but what he said was, "Yeah." He wasn't sure if he should move or stay where he was, but Erwin solved that problem for him, rising up to lean over him, pressing his lips to Mike's. It wasn't his first kiss, but it was the first one that made him feel like this: sick and nervous and wonderful all at once. Erwin had kissed before, too, and his tongue slid quickly and surely between Mike's lips as Mike parted them. Mike hadn't wanted something so much before without being aware that he had wanted it. He seized Erwin's shoulder and pulled him closer. He didn't care if they were supposed to do it. He wanted to. It might not have been a perfect kiss, because they were too eager and too fierce, and their teeth clicked. Mike was too nervous to be sure of how to turn his head, wanting to please Erwin, but not sure what he liked. Erwin had been pleased nonetheless, wrapping his arms around him and lying beside him as he had so many times before, the difference being that this time they were facing each other and touching each other.

Erwin laughed. "That went better than I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know--I thought you might disown me."

"Erwin, you didn't really think that." Mike was still nervous, and he was confused, and he had no idea what they were doing, or what that kiss had meant, but he wouldn't ever push Erwin away, would he?

"Maybe not. Or maybe I did." But he was smiling, and Mike couldn't think he was too worried. Mike pushed at his shoulders playfully, and then Erwin kissed him again. It was thrilling and good, and it made him feel like there was no one else in the world. Erwin made him feel important. Like there was no one else he cared about as much. They were best friends.


	4. Chapter 4

There had been an innocence to the way their relationship had started. Looking back at it, it was almost childish, even naive: Erwin politely asking for his permission to kiss him. That was Erwin. He was polite, and he was charming, but he had a way of setting events in motion, and once they'd begun, they were inescapable. Years later, Mike felt that if not for Erwin's question that day, what grew up between them might never have started. He'd felt strongly about Erwin, but he would have been too shy to initiate anything like that, and he hadn't thought about himself or Erwin that way. He hadn't thought they could do things like that.

Homosexuals were--well, people didn't talk about them, or when they did, they didn't say anything nice. His mother wouldn't have tolerated that kind of talk, so Mike didn't listen to it. Mike didn't know anything about what homosexuality was like when he was that age, and it could be that he hadn't wanted to. He didn't know a lot about it now, because what he and Erwin had done had been separate from other people, in his mind.

Once it had started, it made perfect sense. In retrospect, Mike became aware that he'd been dissatisfied without knowing why. He'd liked girls, but he hadn't been interested in dating any particular girls. He'd preferred to spend his time with Erwin. Not that it was strange to prefer spending time with your best friend, but there'd been more to it than mere preference. He'd thought about Erwin often, as he lay awake before bed, just picturing his face, listening to his own breathing in the dark. He'd been infused with nervous energy, as if he'd had too much coffee to drink, at an age before he'd started drinking coffee. He'd felt warmer when Erwin was near him, and brighter. It was odd, the way you could know something all along without realizing it consciously. His body had known. His heart had known to beat faster.

As they'd been teenage boys, their relationship hadn't remained innocent long, not in the way people usually meant the word. Mike had been timid at first, but Erwin had been eager to expand from kisses into other actions. He hadn't ever pushed Mike, but he hadn't had to. Mike had been eager for the touch of Erwin's hands and his mouth, willing to try the new things Erwin thought of doing. Not that he'd never felt worried about it. In times of doubt, he'd been sure that they were doing something wrong, that they'd be punished for it someday. Yet there had been an innocence to the way they were together that none of that had been able to touch, a heartfelt yearning, an uncomplicated want. Was he over-romanticizing it now? Had he built it up in his mind into something it hadn't been, over the many long months he'd been alone and suffering? He didn't think so. It had been real.

He was missing it. His body ached from wounds, old and new, and from years spent in cramped quarters, but his pain didn't remove his desire. All the physical touch he'd experienced in prison had been harsh and brutal, and he hadn't recovered from that. When someone moved toward him, to hug him or touch his shoulder or take his hand, he would tense. He experienced unreasoning surges of fear, no matter how much he told himself that these were people who cared about him, that they wouldn't hurt him. He was fearful, but he craved touch as much as he was wary of it. It did make him feel better, when his initial tension was eased by the reality of arms coming around him, gently; when his mother embraced him, or Erwin did, or when his father ruffled his hair.

That was nice, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to lie down with someone--a specific someone--and kiss them. He wanted to have sex again. He wanted to fuck, to press Erwin down and push inside him. It had been a long time, so long since he'd felt such a strong, immediate urge to sleep with someone or had any opportunity to. Erwin's visit had made him frustrated, a result he hadn't expected, which left him wrestling with both anger and guilt. Was there something wrong with him? This shouldn't be what he was thinking after having been reunited with his friend.

Hovering nearby, his father interrupted his thoughts. "Mike."

Mike gave a start, embarrassed by the subject of his thoughts and to have been thinking of them in the presence of one of his parents, but he quickly composed himself. He was sure his father could have no idea what was on his mind. "Yeah, Dad?"

"Are you busy?"

He wasn't doing anything but sitting in his chair, staring into space, but he patiently answered, "I'm not." He knew why his dad was being careful around him, and he couldn't be annoyed about that.

"I was wondering if you wanted to see the garage."

That's right. His father had mentioned that he'd converted the garage into a kind of second family room. His father liked to do projects around the house. He'd finished the basement, too, when Mike was a kid. He was determined to make as much of the house livable and comfortable as possible. Mike couldn't easily descend into the basement now, because the stairs were so steep, but the garage was no problem. "Sure thing." He was glad to make his father happy by showing an interest in his projects, and he was glad of the distraction from other, more troubling, ideas.

"I'll take you in, then." His father wavered before taking hold of the wheelchair. He was less confident about using it than Mike's mother was. Mike understood that, too. He and his father were similar, in some ways. Neither of them talked about their feelings much. Mike did that with Erwin, but that was because Erwin managed to coax such things out of him. He put effort into it. He could tell his father was upset to see that his son was injured, reminded constantly of how vulnerable he was. It hurt him, and taking the wheelchair in his hands was an acknowledgement of that weakness and pain. If his son hadn't suffered, if he hadn't been gone, he'd be able to walk.

His father persevered and took his time, exercising great care in guiding the wheelchair. He paused at the door in the kitchen that led out to the garage, maneuvering the chair painstakingly over the bump in the doorway, then down the two low stairs that followed. He reached out to turn on the light switch, then turned to Mike. "What do you think?"

"It's nice." It was. It wasn't fancy, but the conversion had worked out well. Mike wouldn't have known it was the same dim, box-lined garage that his father had used as a workshop when he was a kid. There were no tools, no rough workbenches or sawhorses. It was clean and open and largely empty. There was a large, checkered rug on the floor, and there were two couches, but there wasn't much else. It was weird to look at it; it was more changed than any other part of the house. It didn't resemble its old self at all. He used to drag his messier art projects out here, or work on making simple pieces of furniture to his father's specifications, like the shelves and benches they made in woodshop class.

"Glad you like it."

They surveyed his father's handiwork in silence for several minutes. Mike wasn't sure what else to say about it, but he'd wait here as long as his father felt it was necessary.

"Thought you could stay here," said his father at last. "If you want. Separate from the house, and you could come and go when you want."

Mike nodded, comprehension dawning. His father meant for him to live here. It would be like an apartment, if one that was attached to the house. He could stay here indefinitely, if he wanted. He tried to decide how he felt about that. Was that going to be what happened? As a place to live, it wouldn't be bad, with more furniture and a little more work. He could take up residence here until he was better. He could get a job. He could go back to school, and eventually, he'd be able to get a place of his own. He could live in town, where so many of his friends lived.

Would he get married? Would he start a family? Was he going to live here forever? He felt another headache coming on. This was nothing to get upset about. That would be the kind of normal life everyone was supposed to want, so why was he upset? 

He didn't want what everyone was supposed to want. That was what was wrong. Envisioning that future, he didn't want it. That frightened him, because what else was there?

From the house proper, the doorbell rang, a lively chime. Mike was grateful for the interruption, because he didn't have to respond to his father's suggestion. "I'll get it," said his father, leaving Mike in the middle of the garage that could be his new home. Mike felt lost. He belonged here. Everyone knew that he did, but he couldn't get himself to completely believe it.

"Mike, it's for you." Mike turned himself around, expecting to see Erwin, his stomach twisting, but the man standing in the doorway had a narrow face and black hair and undeniably wasn't Erwin: Nile.

"Thought I'd check in on you," he said, "make sure you're not causing too much trouble."

With a few polite words, Mike's father excused himself, and Mike was relieved he could put off telling him what he thought about living in the garage, as well as avoid thinking about it himself. "Hey, Nile."

"You have a good day?" Nile made his way forward, scanning the converted space with polite interest, until he reached Mike's side and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"It was okay. Nan came to visit." Nan's visit hadn't filled him with conflicting feelings or grief. He'd been aware of the lost time and some distance between them, but overall, it had been good to see her, like it was supposed to be.

"She hasn't stopped talking about you since she heard. She give you all those damn books?"

"Yeah, there are a lot of them."

Nile shook his head. "Better you than me."

Nile wasn't a stupid man by any means, but he wasn't a fan of leisure reading. "I like books."

"I know, I know. You like books. Well, you can read all the books you want, I won't stop you. I'm sure Nan'll be thrilled to give you more when you're done."

Mike tried not to tense as he was touched. He managed, telling himself that Nile was his friend, who didn't want to hurt him. "I saw Erwin, too. Dad picked him up at the airport."

Nile frowned. "How'd that go?"

"Good."

Nile grunted, his mood visibly dimming. "How's Erwin?" he asked, but he made no attempt to disguise his grudging tone.

"He's all right."

"Where's he now?"

Mike couldn't tell him the whole truth, so he settled on part of it. "He had to do some things for his mom."

Nile couldn't find fault with this excuse, so he made a thoughtful noise. "He didn't do anything to upset you, did he?"

"No," Mike lied. Rationally, he knew full well that nothing Erwin had done was wrong or his fault. Events had transpired that had been out of their hands.

"He's different, isn't he?" Nile pressed. He must have wanted his own opinions confirmed.

"He's different," Mike agreed, before adding loyally, "we all are." He wasn't happy with all the ways Erwin had changed, but he couldn't deny that he had changed, too.

"But not in the same way." Nile shook his head, then sighed. "Forget it. I don't want to talk about Erwin."

It was odd, and a more disturbing change than the one Nile was talking about: the last time Mike had seen them together, Nile and Erwin had been close. The war had brought them together, rather than the opposite. Hardship and struggle had a way of uniting people. While working with each other, fighting side by side, they'd come to depend on each other. Nile and Erwin had spent as much time together as Mike and Erwin had. He'd often come across them laughing together, usually at some stupid joke. It wasn't that Mike and Erwin never laughed together, but Erwin was more serious with Mike, if more open. He and Nile had a different kind of friendship, full of teasing and insults, but with an undercurrent of deep fidelity. Now, Mike saw nothing of that. Nile didn't show any signs of wanting to see Erwin, let alone laugh with him. 

"How about you take me up on that beer from last night?" Nile offered, mustering his smile.

"All right." He didn't consider refusing, this time. He could use a beer, after today.

"I brought some beer by last night, I bet it's still around--" Nile made his way into the house proper and returned shortly, bearing his prize of six gleaming bottles. "Here we go." He'd brought a bottle opener in, too. He popped open one of the bottles and handed it to Mike. "A toast. To a goddamn hero." Mike didn't disagree with him. He didn't consider himself a hero, but other people did. He didn't want to argue with them. It helped them feel better, to think of things that way, to say that what had happened had had meaning, could be seen as something great and noble. Only Erwin had said something different.

As it turned out, Nile didn't do a good job of not talking about Erwin. Once he had a few beers in him, it was as if that was all he could talk about. By the time they moved on to their second six pack, he was growing irate. "He thinks he's better than us now," he announced, leaning back on the couch he'd taken over. He'd parked Mike's chair next to it so they could sit together. "Since he went off to the city--who even knows what he gets up to there. Nothing good."

Mike took another sip of his beer, momentarily worried that Nile was going to mention something about Erwin's relationship, or call him a pervert, but he didn't say anything of the kind. If he had any thoughts or knowledge about Erwin's sex life, he kept them to himself. "Now he acts like he's too good for this country."

Mike nodded, although he didn't entirely agree. He'd kept drinking to match Nile, hoping that it would do him some good, if only temporarily. The beer brought a kind of hazy distance to his mind, which he liked, but Nile's words, growing in harshness, kept him from drifting away. If he'd wanted to drink to forget, Nile wasn't the best companion, as he kept bringing up the very person Mike most wanted to stop thinking about for a little while.

"We fought and died for our country--thousands of us died--to protect the world. That wasn't nothing. You know, if we'd done nothing, who knows what would have happened? It's easy to say there wasn't any point when you don't know what would have happened if we hadn't gone over there!"

Mike wanted to believe that he'd done some good, so it would have been easy to agree with Nile. It would have been nice to think that he was a hero, like everyone said. The truth was that he didn't know. His plane had crashed, and he'd been captured. Then he'd spent seven years in a hole that had felt like Hell. Like being burned alive and left to bake. He'd tried so hard to be strong, not to give in to the torture, to the deprivation and degradations. He'd wanted to be a hero for his country. So was he a hero or not?

A new and familiar voice spoke suddenly. In their beery haze, Mike and Nile hadn't realized they were no longer alone. "I hope you don't mind if I crash this party." Erwin was standing in the doorway. He smiled at Mike apologetically, turning his head slightly to one side. "Your parents told me you were in here, Mike." He nodded at Nile. "Nile. Good to see you."

"Hi, Erwin," said Mike. Seeing him made him feel nervous and upset all over again. He didn't want to keep feeling this way whenever he saw Erwin. He wanted it to stop, but he wasn't sure how to make that happen. He didn't know if he'd had too much to drink or not enough.

"Erwin," said Nile, with a nod. He didn't smile.

Something was different about Erwin. Once Mike realized that, it took him only an instant to determine what it was. He was no longer wearing his prosthetic arm, and with his sleeve tied off, it was easy to see where it had been amputated, midway down his upper arm. Mike stared at the point where his arm ended, then realized he was staring and looked away. He didn't want Erwin to feel strange or self-conscious about it, but seeing him lacking an arm was different than knowing it was gone. Should he look at it, or not?

If Erwin had any feelings about his arm being scrutinized, Mike was unable to read them. Closing the door behind him, he approached Nile and Mike slowly. The three of them had last been together seven years ago, and though their situation at the time had been far more grim, they'd been smiling. Now, when they were reunited at last, not one of them smiled. Erwin gazed down at the beer bottles with a critical eye. "Do you think this is a good idea?" he asked mildly. He looked from Mike to Nile, the question clearly addressed to both of them. Mike wasn't sure what to say, because it probably wasn't a good idea, but he didn't want to admit it.

"Do I think what's a good idea?" Nile answered. 

"You know what I mean."

"What, are you Mike's mom now? His doctor?"

"Mike has a perfectly wonderful mother, and I don't have a medical license," Erwin replied evenly. "But I don't think this is the best thing for him at the moment."

"He's a grown man, he can make his own choices. He almost died for his country, so he can have a few beers." Nile rose to his feet, and they stood facing each other. Nile was glowering, but Erwin's expression remained perfectly placid.

"How are Marie and Michelle?"

The change of subject to Nile's wife and daughter didn't calm him down so much as make him wary. "They're fine. You could actually talk to them, you know."

"I know. I'd like that. Maybe I'll stop by later in the week."

Nile narrowed his eyes, as if suspecting he'd been tricked into inviting Erwin into his home. "If I say you can."

"Fine, Nile, if you say I can." 

Erwin was trying to avoid arguing with him, but Nile wasn't satisfied. "I'm surprised you want to come by, that you're still willing to talk to people like us."

"Nile." Erwin sighed. He started to lean down to pick up beer bottles. Mike, who still wasn't saying anything, noticed the way his right arm moved. He was able to hold things with it, tucking bottles under what remained of his arm. Mike wondered if there was a reason he wasn't wearing the prosthesis. Was it too uncomfortable or bulky, or difficult to get on? Though he hated the thought of being rude to Erwin, it was easier to focus on the arm than to consider the way Erwin and Nile were interacting, the strain and enmity between them. He would have preferred to think about it as little as possible. It was as if he'd come back to another world, in which his friends weren't friends anymore. "Are we really going to do this again?" Erwin asked, tiredly.

"Do what? We're having a friendly conversation. Isn't that what friends do?" Nile wasn't drunk enough to slur his words, but he was drunk enough to speak freely and harshly.

"I don't think it is. Not like this." Erwin couldn't hold all the bottles, and he stopped picking them up once he was carrying as many as he could, though he'd managed to gather up the majority. He straightened. 

"Well, maybe you don't know. Mike and I are having a good time."

Erwin looked to Mike. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, it's fun," said Mike, but he wasn't convinced of his own words, and he was sure Erwin didn't believe them, either. Erwin knew how to see through him.

"Don't encourage him to drink like this, please," Erwin said.

"Having a few beers together is something that millions of people do every night. Because we served our country, we shouldn't do it? I'm sick of this, Erwin!" Nile took a quick step toward him. He was smaller than Erwin, but not at all intimidated by him. "You're not any better than us. You don't know best, and you can't tell us what to do."

"I'm going to throw these out," said Erwin, ignoring what Nile had said. "I'll be right back."

While Erwin was gone, Nile turned to Mike. "You're not saying anything. He did do something to upset you, didn't you?"

"No." What was he supposed to say to Nile about it? _I'm in love with Erwin, and I want to fuck him, but I shouldn't be, and I can't?_ He couldn't begin to imagine how Nile would react to that. They'd never told Nile about what they did, and he obviously didn't know now. What would he think about them both? Would he be angry at Mike, too? Mike had heard enough stuff in the Army about it, jokes about men who liked to take it up the ass, who weren't real men. He'd heard of people being attacked because they seemed too queer. He'd never heard of Nile doing or saying something like that, but to most people, it was abnormal.

Nile rested a hand on the arm of Mike's wheelchair as he leaned in closer. "Mike, I'm your friend. You can't lie to me."

Yes, he could. He could lie to everyone, and he would. He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Don't mention it."

"You can be such a close-mouthed bastard," Nile muttered, but he didn't seem angry at Mike. He looked like he was about to say something else, but at that moment, Erwin returned from throwing out the bottles. 

If he'd hoped that Nile would have cooled off in his absence, he'd hoped in vain. "Look, you think you can breeze right the fuck in here whenever you wanna descend from on high and fucking associate with us, but you're wrong. We did a lot, as much as you. And we didn't betray everyone by turning around like some damn Commie and stabbing our own country in the back."

"I'm not a Communist," said Erwin, coolly. "Questioning my government doesn't make me a Communist. This is a democracy, and I have a right to have my opinion and express it. People listened to our protests. We're pulling out of the war now, and I hope it'll end. I want it to end for everyone. I don't want anyone to die for no reason. I didn't want Mike to die."

Nile narrowed his eyes throughout the entirety of this short speech. "And you're saying _I_ did?"

"No, Nile, I'm not saying that at all. If you would listen to me--" Erwin broke off. "Mike," he said suddenly.

Mike wasn't sure why Erwin turned to stare at him, and then Nile did the same, but he belatedly became aware of the fact that his face was wet. He was crying again.

"We're upsetting him," said Erwin. "I'm sorry, Mike. We shouldn't fight."

It _was_ upsetting him, to see them acting like completely different people. His head was hurting again. It couldn't be right. This couldn't be them. Erwin and Nile were best friends, like he and Mike were best friends. All three of them were, in any combination, if three people were allowed to be best friends together.

"Stop speaking for him like he belongs to you." Nile strutted up to Mike's chair, putting a hand on the back of it. "Because he doesn't."

Erwin didn't address this comment directly. "Leave him alone," he said.

"No--what is it, Mike? You tell me what's wrong," Nile demanded, ignoring Erwin's command.

"I want--I just want--" He couldn't finish the sentence. He was drunk, and he was lonely, and he wanted to be with Erwin, for Erwin to hold him in his arms and make him feel better. It was silly, and it was childish, but that was what he wished for in this moment, more than anything else.

"What did you do to him, Erwin?" Nile asked. The accusation in his tone was clear and bitter. Although Mike had only hinted that something was wrong, Nile had instantly assumed that whatever it was had been bad and worthy of remonstrating with him. That wasn't true. Erwin had done nothing wrong, so Mike didn't have any real right to be upset.

"I said, _leave him alone!_ " Erwin's voice rose, and Nile took a step back. "I need to speak to him alone, all right?" Erwin's voice had altered, his careful calm slipping away, revealing something harsher and angrier beneath. "Just let me."

Oddly, as soon as Erwin lost his calm, Nile regained his, speaking quietly and coolly now. "I'll do what Mike wants to do," he said. He turned to Mike. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to Erwin."

Nile looked from one of them to the other, and Mike could read the frustration on his face clearly. He was sorry that he couldn't tell Nile about it, but what was he supposed to do? "Mike, you can..." Mike didn't find out what Nile was about to say, because he trailed off and concluded, "Never mind." He sighed, letting his arms fall to his side, and Mike couldn't remember having seen him so dispirited before, not even during the worst moments of combat. He seemed smaller than Mike remembered, as if he'd shrunk in Mike's absence, but that couldn't be the case. Mike was the one who'd wasted away. 

"I'll walk home then. I could use the fresh air. Don't wanna keep Marie waiting." 

It was more than fresh, as it was February, but neither Erwin nor Mike stopped him from going. Mike felt bad about that, but he only said, "Bye Nile, I'll see you later," as Nile departed from the garage, making his way into the house before leaving, presumably to collect his coat. He still looked small as he passed through the door and closed it behind him.

"I'm sorry," said Mike, once Erwin was gone. He wasn't sure if he was apologizing for Nile's behavior or his own.

"I need to ask you something," said Erwin, coming closer. He didn't acknowledge the apology, and he made no mention of Nile or what he'd said, as if he hadn't even been there. "I want you to answer me honestly, all right?"

Mike nodded. He was still crying, and Erwin didn't ask his question right away, reaching out to brush at his tears with his fingertips. "God, I can't bear to see you like this. I just want--I want to make it better. Can you trust me, Mike? Can you do that?"

Mike swallowed. He wanted to stop crying, but he couldn't stop. At least he wasn't sobbing, but the tears continued to roll down his cheeks. He could feel them. Erwin was asking him if he trusted him. How could he say no to that? He'd always trusted Erwin. But Erwin had left him. He was with someone else, someone he must have liked better, if he'd chosen him over Mike. That was the truth of it. He couldn't escape it. It was a provable fact. Other than his youthful boyhood crush on Nan, which had dissolved peacefully into friendship, he'd never had a relationship end before. He didn't know how he was supposed to deal with it. He'd been relying on Erwin for so long, even when Erwin wasn't with him. Part of him had always believed that, if by some miracle he made it home, Erwin would be waiting for him. He had trusted Erwin then. He realized he wasn't saying anything in response to what Erwin had asked him.

"If you don't right now, I understand," said Erwin. "It's a lot to ask, isn't it? But I'm asking it of you anyway. You don't have to say anything right away, but remember, you can trust me. I need you to do that. I know you can."

He nodded, very slowly. It was hard to agree to that, when he knew he didn't completely trust Erwin anymore, but he wanted to.

"Good. It'll be all right. I promise."

He couldn't believe that, but it was difficult to say no to Erwin, so he didn't.

"But that wasn't exactly what I wanted to ask you." He was standing over Mike, but again, he sank to his knees before him. "This might be a little difficult, but that's why I want you to trust me, all right?"

Mike felt nervous at this, but he gave Erwin his usual nod, nonetheless.

"I want to know if you need me to back off. I don't mean leave, or stop seeing you--but if you want me to be more careful while you're here and draw back, then I'll do that. Just for as long as you need me to."

Mike didn't want Erwin to pull away from him. It had only been one day. He'd just gotten here. Everything was so different and so disorienting, all at once. He'd rather be with Erwin every moment, but Erwin's presence was hurting him every moment. Like now, when he couldn't stop crying. Maybe it was the beer affecting his emotions, but the beer was probably enhancing what was already there.

"For a little while," he decided at last, though the mere act of saying the words was painful, to say nothing of the distance they implied. "Just until it's better." If only he could go back. If only he could have his time back and return to the days when he could lie in Erwin's bed for hours. He could spend the night, and no one would suspect or disturb them, because they were both boys, and it was normal for them to sleep over at each other's houses. He'd say, "Let's not join the Army after all. I want to be a teacher like my mom," and Erwin would say that he didn't want to join the Army anymore either, in that case.

And then-- He didn't know what would happen after that, but it would all be different. It would be better. He would have all his years, and he could spend them with Erwin.

Erwin smiled, sadly. "For a little while."


	5. Chapter 5

Erwin stayed for another week. It was a difficult week. Erwin came to visit again, every day, but he was careful, as he'd promised to be. He held back, and he delicately avoided spending time alone with Mike. He was good at managing people, like he'd always been. If he'd stayed in the military, he could've risen to the top, Mike was sure. He excelled at everything he tried. He had always been that way: at the top of their class, acknowledged as the best soldier in their squad. Mike knew no one could have guessed that Erwin was handling them, deliberately arranging events so that he and Mike wouldn't be left in each other's company without anyone else present. Mike wouldn't have known either, if he hadn't been aware of Erwin's plan beforehand.

He wondered if it was easy for Erwin. He was so calm. He smiled and laughed at the right moments. He played card games when he was asked, and he ate the food he was given. He answered questions politely and avoided potentially objectionable subjects. Mike's mother asked him, once, about dating in the city, about settling down. Would he ever do it? Would he find the right girl? Erwin didn't give her an answer, laughing it off. "Oh, you don't need to worry about that." There must have been nothing he could say that would have been honest yet wouldn't have caused Mike pain. Erwin didn't so much as glance at Mike. Erwin didn't look sad, not for a single moment. Mike wouldn't have been able to do that. He didn't know how.

On the day of his departure, Mike's dad dropped Erwin off at the house before taking him to the airport, so he could say good-bye. This time, Erwin let them leave the two of them alone. Erwin leaned down to wrap his arms around him. He lingered like that, his hands on Mike's back, his face suddenly pressing into Mike's hair. Mike could feel the warmth of his breath as he inhaled and exhaled. He didn't object. It made his body ache, to have Erwin so close to him, but he wanted that closeness as much as he dreaded it. He stayed as still as he could, as he would if he found a deer in the woods, afraid of startling it.

Not that Erwin was so easy to startle, and he wasn't so predictable. He pulled away.

"I'll talk to you soon," Erwin said. "Is it all right to call you?"

"It's all right."

"Tell me whenever it isn't. If you need me to stop, tell me that."

"I will," said Mike, looking down. He wished there was no need to say anything like that. The mere thought of telling Erwin, his best friend, not to talk to him, was upsetting.

Erwin must have realized that. "You won't be able to get rid of me, in any case. I'll always listen to you. Don't forget that." He rested his hand on Mike's hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go.

Mike did believe him, but at the same time, he didn't. He didn't fully trust Erwin, not like he used to. If he told Erwin to stay with him, he wouldn't stay. He'd go home anyway. That was a fact. He was already leaving. His home wasn't the same as Mike's anymore. He didn't try asking him, because he didn't want to hear him say no. It was one thing to know he'd say it, and another to hear it for himself. It wasn't so hard to bear that Erwin had moved on in his absence. What was far worse was the fact that he wouldn't move back now that he knew Mike was still alive. If he'd loved him, he would have come back, wouldn't he? He could have left the other person behind. He could have said, _Sorry, but this is who I want to be with._

It didn't make sense. It didn't fit in with the world he'd known. This was a new world, and Mike didn't like living in it. The problem was that he couldn't have his old world back. It was seven years in the past, where no one could reach it. Erwin left, and Mike watched through the window as the car drove away.

"I know it's hard to see him go," said his mother, softly. She'd approached him without him realizing it. "But nothing can truly keep good friends apart."

She didn't understand. How could he tell her that her son was abnormal, that Erwin was more than a friend to him? If Mike had had a girlfriend or a wife, and if he'd come home to find that she was married to someone else, then she would have known what it was like. She wouldn't have said that. That _was_ what it was like, as far as Mike was concerned, but no one took his relationship with Erwin that seriously. He didn't know how seriously Erwin took it. It was possible, that to him, it had been childish, something he'd done in his youth that was a pleasant memory, but not what he wanted now. Not everyone stayed with their childhood sweetheart and grew up to marry them, like Nile had. It was the exception to the rule these days, wasn't it?

He couldn't tell his mom that what he was feeling wasn't sadness at a friend leaving town, that what he wanted was messier and warmer and more rough and more beautiful than that. "Yeah," was all he said. He'd never considered it before, how many of the things he thought to himself that he didn't say. What if he'd said more to Erwin, before they'd been forced apart? What if he'd told him how he felt? He'd assumed Erwin had known, but he must not have known. Now it was too late to say anything, so he'd force it down, force it away. "I know you're right."

Once Erwin was gone, life settled into a routine. An entirely new routine. It was nothing like life in prison had been, but nothing like life in the Army, and very far removed from what his days had been like so long ago, before the war, when he'd been just a kid going to school.

He went to see the same family doctor he'd always seen, but his doctor, although kind, was elderly and had no experience in treating someone who'd been through what he'd experienced. Mike's father drove him to the hospital a few times a week, so he could get more treatment. It was a long, wearisome drive, and his hips and legs ached after sitting in the car for so long. More than once, he imagined the car's walls closing in on him, the press of claustrophobia clutching at his throat and forcing out his breath. His father pulled over and open the car doors to let him out. Mike told himself he wasn't sitting in a tiny cell. He wasn't trapped. He was safe. 

After the long drive, he dutifully listened to the doctors at the hospital, but he didn't feel like he was any closer to walking again. He was too weak, and too demoralized. He knew he should work harder, but when he got home, he felt so tired. What was the point? He wanted to lie down, so that was what he did. He tried to sleep, but he couldn't escape his nightmares. They jolted him awake. He would wake up screaming sometimes, and his mother would come running. She'd wipe his tears and tell him it was all right, and he felt embarrassed that he, a grown man, was putting his mother through this. There was no escape for him in sleep. 

When he couldn't sleep or he wanted to avoid it, he read the books Nan had brought him, and when he had finished a number of them, he'd call her. She'd come over, and they'd talk about the books together. If he didn't want to talk, she'd sit there with him, patiently. If the weather was fair, they'd go on a walk, Nan pushing his wheelchair down the sidewalk. It was slowly getting warmer, but the cold kept returning, as if to remind everyone it couldn't be vanquished. He'd lost all his tolerance for the cold, and he had to wear a hat and scarf.

Nile kept inviting him over for dinner, and he never refused an invitation. Mike liked spending time with Nile and Marie. Marie hadn't changed much, although she was quieter than she used to be. Their daughter was cute. "Michelle," Nile said as he introduced them, "this is Michael. We named you after him." They told her to call him Uncle Mike, which made him smile. As an only child, he'd never thought he'd have nieces or nephews. After dinner, he and Nile would drink together. He wasn't supposed to drink, but it was only a few beers. It helped him to drift away in a way sleep couldn't anymore. Nile avoided talking about Erwin, for which Mike was grateful.

He listened to all his new Dylan records, then listened to them again. He learned that it was difficult to listen to music when you'd lost someone. He wondered if all musicians had broken hearts, because they wrote so many songs for people with broken hearts, and Dylan was no exception. The reminders of Erwin weren't welcome:

_So never leave me lonely_  
Tell me that you love me only  
And say you'll always let it be me. 

Why were so many songs love songs? It wasn't fair.

While all this was happening, Erwin kept calling him, as he'd promised he would; not every day, but every few days. They didn't talk about anything in particular. Erwin would ask him what he'd been doing, what books he'd read and who he'd been visiting. Mike answered his questions, but he avoided telling Erwin about the drinking, as he hadn't been happy about that before. It wasn't as if he was the only one avoiding certain subjects. Erwin talked very little about his own life. He might mention something he'd read or a play he'd seen. He might tell a story about a conversation he'd overheard or an incident he'd witnessed in the city, a drama acted out between two strangers that had nothing to do with them.

Mike started to feel a little calmer. Or was it calm? He felt--very distant. Like he was floating on a raft far away from everyone else, out on a smooth sea, in the still air. It could have been that he was growing resigned, getting better at pushing down what he was feeling so he didn't have to think about it. He wasn't happier. He would have known happiness, because he'd known it once. This felt much lonelier than that.

That calm or resignation or whatever it was only lasted for so long. It ended on the day Erwin said, "I'm planning to come back to visit again."

Mike had known that he would be coming back eventually. He came back often, and a few months had passed since his last visit. "That's good, Erwin."

"I'm glad you think so."

"I want to see you," said Mike, trying to keep his voice level. He'd been doing so well. He couldn't get upset now, not over something he'd already known was going to happen.

"I want to see you, too. Of course. But Mike--"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to bring Levi along."

Mike frowned. 

Erwin couldn't see him frowning into the phone, but he must have guessed that he was doing so. He continued, quickly. "I know, it's rather soon. I'll wait, if you like. I'm not going to bring him unless you say it's all right. You're both very important to me, and I'd like you to meet someday, but I won't do anything without your approval. You won't have to see him any more than you want to. I promise."

Erwin had a careful, convincing way of speaking. He made things sound like good ideas, even when Mike suspected they weren't. "Does he want to come?"

"He's agreed to come, yes."

That wasn't the same thing as wanting to come, but Mike didn't fight Erwin on that point. He wasn't sure how to answer. He'd have to meet this person eventually, wouldn't he? If he wanted to stay close to Erwin, and Erwin was living with him. It was inevitable. No, that wasn't true. He probably could have gone on avoiding meeting him indefinitely, if he was determined enough to do so. Erwin said he'd only invite Levi if Mike agreed to it, and Erwin kept his word. Erwin could be difficult, but he would respect Mike's wishes. But what purpose would that serve? He'd keep wondering about him. His avoidance wouldn't stop Erwin from being interested in Levi. He could face the truth. He'd faced harsher truths than this. "All right, Erwin." He'd regret it, but he agreed.

"Thank you. It means a great deal to me. I know this won't be easy for you."

It wouldn't be.

***

His father volunteered to pick Erwin up from the airport again. He was quick to volunteer to help in every way possible. Whether it was necessary didn't matter. Mike knew he wanted to make things right, to fix even the things that couldn't be helped. Trying so hard made his father anxious, because no matter how much work he did, he could never undo what had been done.

"What do you think I should make for dinner?" his mother asked. "Do you know anything about Erwin's friend or what he might like?"

"Not really," said Mike, who was perpetuating the fiction of Levi being Erwin's "friend". He had had no better word to use for him, although his mother must have wondered why Erwin was dragging along some friend from the city who Mike didn't know, when they should have been spending the days of Erwin's visit with each other, not with anyone else. Mike had wondered the same thing, more than once, but he'd agreed to this, so he was committed to it. He couldn't tell Erwin to take Levi home, not now, when their plane was already landing. he'd had the chance to change his mind. Erwin had offered him that choice more than once, and he hadn't taken it. He didn't like to go back on his word.

"Well, I'll make chicken, to be safe."

Mike wasn't sure what made chicken safe, but to make her feel better, he nodded.

"Will you help me in the kitchen?" she asked, and he suspected she was the one trying to make him feel better in this, by giving him a task to distract him.

He was grateful to her for that. "Sure, I'll help."

His father returned home alone. He'd taken Erwin to his mother's house first, so that he and Levi could unpack their things, settle down, and get ready. They'd be by once they were done. Mike listened to his father speak very carefully, in the hopes that he would give away some telling information concerning the mysterious Levi, but his father was his usual quiet self, limiting his observations to the facts that Erwin looked healthy and that the car was driving a bit funny.

No one would have thought it was unusual for him to be curious, but Mike didn't want to seem too interested, so he didn't ask too many questions. He stayed in the kitchen with his mother while she cooked. She didn't need his help, but he did what he could, and he tried to think of anything but the visit that was almost upon him. The time passed too quickly, and the work for him to do was too little. When he'd run out of tasks to complete, his mother wheeled him back out into the living room and gave him a book to read. He opened the book, then closed it again and set it down. He thought of turning on the television, but he didn't feel like watching anything. His father went outside to look at the car.

It wasn't long before he came back inside. "Erwin's here," he said, smiling at Mike. Mike smiled back, because he was expected to smile.

Mike hadn't managed to form any definite idea of what Levi would be like, based on what he'd heard about him from Erwin. He'd had nothing but vague suppositions in his mind, but the man who followed Erwin into the house didn't fit in with any of them. He was small, almost a foot shorter than Erwin. His dark hair was cropped short, and he was immaculately dressed in unstylish clothes: straight-legged black slacks, a crisp white dress shirt, and a black blazer and tie. He carried a cane with him, and it wasn't difficult to guess why. Mike saw, as he moved, that he walked with a pronounced limp. He didn't smile. Levi scanned the room with a sharp intensity, as if seeking a particular point of focus. When his gaze met Mike's, he may have found it, because he paused, then nodded.

Meanwhile, Mike's mother was giving Erwin her usual hug, followed by a playful ruffle of his hair. Erwin recovered from this affection gracefully. "Mike, Mr. and Mrs. Zacharius, this is my friend Levi." Erwin gestured to Levi as he made his introduction. Mike tried not to think about the way Erwin looked at Levi, but he didn't miss the way his expression softened, and the fondness in his smile. Or was he reading too much into it, because he expected to see what he most feared seeing? 

"Nice to meet you," Levi said. No one would have accused him of a fond smile. His voice was cautious, clipped and Northeastern. His regard swept over Mike's parents, then focused on Mike again. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. His dark eyes were intelligent, but not generous. They gave little away.

Mike's mother guided Levi toward the couch, with a nervous glance at his cane. They were all injured: Levi's leg, Erwin's arm, and the greater part of his own body. It was his parents, from the earlier generation, who seemed so much more healthy and able. His mother adeptly maneuvered them all, until everyone was sitting where she wanted them to sit, a pleasant gathering around the coffee table. She offered them drinks and food. Erwin accepted the offer of a drink. 

Levi accepted nothing, but dutifully said, "Thank you." Mike didn't want anything, either.

"Erwin tells us you're a physical therapist," Mike's mother said, once she returned with Erwin's drink. She was curious about the one unknown in her company. Mike hadn't been aware that she'd had a conversation with Erwin about Levi, but he shouldn't have been surprised. She and Erwin had always gotten along well. They enjoyed chatting with each other. They'd probably chatted each time she'd answered the phone when Erwin had called, but Mike had been too preoccupied by thoughts of Erwin to devote much time to thinking about what they might have discussed.

Mike was watching Levi closely enough to note the slight widening of his eyes. "Right," he said.

"Maybe you could give us some advice. I'm sure it would be a great help to Mike. If you wouldn't mind."

"I don't mind," said Levi. Turning back to Mike again, he addressed him directly for the first time. "Do you mind?" His tone wasn't solicitous or warm. It was a flat, simple question.

Mike hadn't said anything yet. He probably should have. Did it seem strange that he hadn't? Everyone was watching him, expectantly. He was the center of attention once again. "It's okay," he said, feeling that his own words were a little anti-climactic as he offered them.

"I'm glad," said his mother. "He's been going to the doctor, but I don't think he's making enough progress."

Mike wished she wouldn't discuss him like that in front of everyone. He knew he wasn't doing well, and that her intentions were good, but hearing it made him feel like more of an outsider, like someone's problem or someone to be pitied.

"I'll give him my professional opinion," said Levi, delivering this verdict professionally enough that Mike had no idea whether he minded being called upon for his opinion.

"I owe my current and continued health to Levi," said Erwin. Levi turned toward him briefly, but said nothing to this. He glanced down at his hands, which rested neatly in his lap. He shifted in his seat, and Mike couldn't tell if this instant of visible discomfort was physical or mental. He was uncomfortable himself. That brief remark opened up a vision for him of a life he knew nothing about, that he'd never know. Someone else was caring for Erwin, had been there for him when he hadn't been able to help him. Mike was glad that Erwin hadn't been left alone, but now he was back. He could take up that role again. It was his.

"That's a ringing endorsement, if I've ever heard one," said his mother, but some instinct must have told her to change the subject, because instead of pursuing the subject, she asked, "Is this your first time visiting Roseville?"

He nodded. "I haven't been here before."

Neither of his parents asked the question Mike was sure they were thinking. Not that his father would have brought it up regardless, but his mother didn't ask Levi why Erwin had brought Levi here _this_ time. Mike hadn't been told why, if Erwin and Levi had known each other for years, Levi hadn't come to visit once, but when he thought about it, it wasn't so mystifying. If he was Erwin's boyfriend--if that was what they called it--then no one would know or acknowledge it. If they had known, they would have thought it was bizarre, or unnatural. Mike didn't like to think of the people he'd grown up with reacting with anger or disgust, but there were reasons he hadn't told anyone about his feelings for Erwin. It had been alienating and lonely, to be unable to talk about it, to harbor the idea that people would dislike him if they knew, and Mike had been born here. Mike had never been to New York City, but he was sure it was nothing like Roseville. Levi must have realized that he wouldn't fit in and that everyone would wonder what he was doing here.

Yet he'd come this time.

"We're glad to have you," said his mom, "and let us know if there's anything we can do to make your stay better."

"Thanks," said Levi. "I appreciate it."

It was a very polite gathering. Everyone was on their best behavior. Mike tried to be, but he was nervous and unhappy, and he had to struggle not to show it. He made it through the conversation, listening to the small talk and providing the necessary responses, participating directly as little as possible. At some point, Levi fell silent, too, and then Erwin and Mike's mom were left to carry on bravely, talking about the plane ride, the weather in springtime, Erwin's mother, and teaching. 

Dinner wasn't much better. The chicken must have been a safe choice, because Levi did eat it, slowly and painstakingly. Mike had rarely seen someone eat with such deliberate care. He cut up all his food neatly before allowing it to pass between his lips. Mike told himself he should be glad that Erwin had found someone who made him happy. He couldn't find any concrete reason to object to Levi. He didn't fit in in Roseville, but he was thoughtful and polite, if not what anyone would call friendly.

"I should probably lie down for a bit," said Mike after dinner. He suspected he was being rude, as he wasn't that tired, physically speaking, but he was eager to be by himself for a little while. His conflicting feelings were wearing on him. It was hard to be charitable when he didn't want to be.

No one so much as questioned him on this choice. "Oh, why don't you take him in, Erwin," said Mike's mother, before anyone else could respond. "I'll start cleaning up here."

"With pleasure," said Erwin, and Mike didn't object. 

"I'll help you," said Levi, turning toward Mike's mother. He rose to his feet and started to gather up the dishes.

"No, it's fine, you don't have to--"

"I don't mind," said Levi, whose hands were already full of dishes. He'd begun assisting, with speed and efficiency, so it wasn't an offer made solely to be polite. Mike didn't linger to see the results of this cleaning collaboration. Erwin was already wheeling him away.

"Are you all right?" Erwin asked, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Yeah. I'll get used to it."

Erwin was silent, at this, and he remained so until they were in Mike's room, far away from Levi and Mike's parents. Erwin shut the door, shutting both of them inside. He made no move to leave. "I missed you."

Mike was newly aware of how much he'd longed to be alone with Erwin again. "I missed you, too."

"I do think Levi will be able to help you," Erwin said quickly. "He's very good at what he does. That's part of the reason I brought him here." He was standing so close, and Mike wished he could reach out to touch him, but he held himself back. He was still trying to behave as he was supposed to. "You don't look much better, Mike," Erwin added.

Mike didn't argue with him. Erwin was only saying the truth. He wasn't trying hard enough. How could he expect to improve?

"I'm concerned about you." Erwin sat down on the bed, and Mike turned his chair to face him. "It's partly my fault, I know."

"No, it isn't. It's not your fault at all, Erwin." He couldn't let Erwin take the blame. What had been done to him wasn't at all like something Erwin would have done. Erwin didn't want to hurt people. They had been soldiers, but not because they'd wanted to do anyone harm. Mike was sure of that, but he wasn't sure how to convince Erwin not to blame himself. "You know, because of what they did, sometimes I get really sick, and I can't..." He trailed off. Talking about it increased his anxiety, and he noticed that his hands were shaking. The images that came to his mind were vague and frightening: shapes moving in darkness, shadows with weight and heat and force. "I can't. I'm afraid."

"I felt that way too, after I came back, and I dealt with far less than you did," said Erwin. "You can talk to me about it. You can always talk to me."

"I can't, because--I'm angry with you," said Mike, very slowly, because discussing any emotion was difficult for him.

It took Erwin longer to respond to that. "You have every right to be," he said, after a few long moments during which he controlled his expression completely. "You can be as angry with me as you want." Mike half-wished Erwin would give him a reason not to be angry, instead. Or that he would object and fight with him and give him an outlet for that anger. He had so much anger, and there was nowhere for it to go. How could he hold it all? "I want to do what's best for you, Mike, but what if I'm wrong about what's best?"

"You don't have to do what's best for me. I'm your friend. You don't have to look after me."

"Yes," said Erwin, "I do."

He knew Erwin--or he had known Erwin, once--better than anyone else, but he didn't always understand him. The ideas he got into his head, his insistence on carrying out the plans he formulated--He could be incredibly stubborn and ruthless about it. Mike didn't know what he was planning, but he wished Erwin could abandon it and be himself, whatever that meant.

As he formulated that thought, he realized: this _was_ Erwin. He was strange and difficult and hard to read. This was what he was like. He had to accept that, if he loved him, and he did. He loved him, more than he was angry with him. "You know what I want," he said. "I want to be with you."

"I know," said Erwin. "If there was a way I could make this easier, I would."

Mike would do the same, but he couldn't think of any way to make it easier. He couldn't come up with something as simple as a way to talk about it, so fixing the problem was far out of his reach. If he were a musician, he would write a song about it. He couldn't write music, but Dylan knew how he felt:

_So never leave me lonely_  
Tell me that you love me only  
And say you'll always let it be me. 

"Do you still want to lie down?" asked Erwin.

"Yeah." He was overwhelmed and tired. Sleep would bring more nightmares, but he craved it. It was one of his few possible escapes, albeit one that disappointed him nightly. If he went to bed, he wouldn't have to deal with this. That was probably cowardly of him, to want to escape, but it wasn't his only motivation. Now that he was alone with Erwin, he didn't want this time with him to end.

"I'll help you into bed, then."

Mike accepted his aid, as he wanted nothing so much as the feel of Erwin's touch on his body. Erwin wasn't wearing his prosthesis today, but he used both his good arm and what remained of the other arm to help Mike, shifting and steadying him. It was a bad idea, to let Erwin do that. By the time Mike was settled in his bed, his breath and heartbeat were faster, and a flush was heating his face.

Erwin was doubtlessly aware of the changes in him. "Mike..."

"Remember, the way we used to lie down together? After school?" Erwin was no less attractive to Mike than he'd been back then.

"I couldn't forget that." Erwin smoothed Mike's hair, in no hurry to pull away, for which Mike was glad. If he'd acted upset or if he'd tried to avoid all contact, Mike would have been hurt. Erwin smiled, his attempt to lighten the conversation clear and almost heroic. "One of the highlights of my adolescence."

"Erwin." Mike shook his head and almost smiled back.

"Well, it was."

Mike reached out to take Erwin's hand, his smile faltering. "Would you lie down with me again? For only a minute?"

Erwin sighed, watching his own hand in Mike's with a perplexed expression, as if asking himself why he wasn't drawing away. "I don't know about that..."

"I won't do anything, I promise."

"Mike, it's not a question of you 'doing' something. I'm sure you wouldn't, but--" He broke off, and, with another heavy sigh, made his decision. He sat down on the bed, then slowly lowered himself further, taking up his old place beside Mike. It was where he belonged. Mike remained very still. If he moved, he could spoil the moment, make Erwin think better of what he'd chosen to do. Not that he didn't want to touch Erwin, because he did. Erwin smelled good. Mike would have loved to take him in his arms and kiss him, but he'd promised he wouldn't do anything like that. Instead, he listened to Erwin's breathing, felt the warmth rising from his skin, and breathed in the scent of him. He didn't speak. Did Erwin want him as much as he wanted Erwin? Or even half as much? Or a little? Or was he humoring him, trying to be kind?

Whatever timer was running in Erwin's head eventually went off, and he sat up again. Mike let him pull away. "I should get back, and I should let you rest. I take too much out of you. I don't mean to. I don't want to be so hard on you. It's the last thing I want. You've had to deal with enough of that, and I'm asking a lot of you already."

Mike didn't castigate or blame him for his words or his actions, and he was grateful that Erwin had lain beside him. That could make their separation harder to bear, but he had wanted it. What good would punishing Erwin have done? It would have made him feel bad, too. But he didn't let Erwin go immediately, because there was something he was curious about. "Erwin?" 

Erwin was getting to his feet, but he paused to look down at Mike. "What is it?"

"What did you tell your mom, about Levi?"

This must not have been a question Erwin was expecting, because it took him a moment to answer, no matter how simple and direct that answer was, when it did come. "I told her the truth," said Erwin. "That's all."

***

_The truth_. Erwin had said that so plainly. As if that was something people did every day, telling their parents they were like that. As if you could do that, as if it was the same as Erwin bringing home a woman. What a foreign idea. He'd never seriously considered telling his own parents about that. Would he be able to? What would they say? What had Erwin's mother said about it? She must have accepted it, to an extent, if she was letting Erwin and Levi stay at her house.

Mike lay awake for a while, thinking about this and remembering how Erwin had rested so close to him for a little while. He wanted him back. He wanted him. If he were a different kind of man, he might have fought harder for Erwin, but Erwin had made his choice, and he didn't want to increase the strain between them. He loved his friend, and any strife between them was hard on him. What else could he have done? Started a fight with Levi? That would have been a terrible idea. He didn't want to fight. He reached out to take up the covers on which Erwin had been lying and pressed them to his face. He could detect a trace of Erwin's scent. 

He would never do anything to hurt Erwin, but he wanted to fuck him. He pictured his body, muscular and golden. His clear, blue eyes. He imagined pushing him down, like he used to, pulling his clothes off and taking him. He'd always been unable to resist him, so eager to put his hands on Erwin whenever they were alone together. Erwin had liked that, flirting with him and asking for it, lowering his eyes and smiling. He had done the most startling things sometimes, like suddenly sinking to his knees when Mike's parents were in the next room. Mike had been worried that they'd be caught, whispering about it cautiously, but Erwin had confidently unzipped Mike's fly and run his lips over Mike's cock. Mike had felt the smile on them.

These memories were difficult to bear, but he couldn't push them away entirely, not when they had such an effect on him. Smelling his own covers, sniffing out traces of Erwin, he was half-hard, and he reached down between his legs to touch himself. He unzipped his fly, freeing his cock. He didn't draw things out. His gave his hand a quick lick, then started to stroke himself. He had no need to savor it. He wanted to come, that was all, to satisfy his want and banish it for a little while. He came in his hand with a shudder and a grunt. 

He realized, too late, that he didn't have anything to wipe himself off with. Getting a tissue or something equally suitable would require getting out of bed, and he was too weak and tired. He didn't want to wipe it off on the bed and risk his mother noticing it when she washed his sheets. He found that idea humiliating, so he brought his hand up to his mouth and slowly licked the come off of it. It was weird, but no one was going to know about it, once the evidence was gone. He imagined that the come was Erwin's. He wished it was.

He was glad that, after that, it didn't take him long to fall asleep, and he was able to sleep for a while, a deep sleep that, for once, brought no dreams with it.

The next day, Erwin and Levi visited again, in the late morning. Erwin called ahead and asked for permission, and Mike granted it. There was a formality to the exchange, as if Erwin were arranging a business meeting. The three of them would be alone. Mike's dad was at work, and his mother had to go out to run some errands. She hadn't returned to her job yet, but Mike could tell she was growing restless, finding more and more reasons to leave the house. Mike couldn't blame her. She loved her work, and it must have been hard for her to have to stay home and care for him. He hated the thought of being a burden. 

Mike was more anxious about speaking to Levi without the buffer of his parents present, but there was no sense putting it off. He'd have to deal with this eventually. Maybe someday, if he kept doing it, it wouldn't hurt so much anymore.

Levi was as immaculately and archaically dressed as he had been the day before. He was also just as wary, nodding at Mike as he studied his surroundings with the care and fixity of a person who didn't feel at ease in them. He was watchful and observant. Mike could see why Erwin was attracted to him. He didn't know him well, but he could tell that Levi was an interesting person. He stood out, not only because of his size and his clothes. There was a cutting look in his eyes, and his features had an elegance that was pretty without being delicate. Although "pretty" wasn't the right word for him, but Mike couldn't think of the right word. He noticed that there were dark circles under Levi's eyes. He looked about as tired as Mike felt. Maybe he was nervous about this, too.

"Would you like something to drink?" Mike offered. He was on his own as a host, but he could still get drinks, even if he was slowed down.

"Drinks sound nice, but you should let me help you," said Erwin.

"No, I can get them." He had to do some things for himself. He got tired of being helped all the time. "Would you like lemonade? Or tea?"

"Tea's fine," said Levi, as he took a seat. "Black, please."

"I'll have tea also," Erwin said, "but Mike, I'd be happy to assist you with it. I really don't mind."

"I'm sure he won't have a problem," said Levi. "He can call for you if he needs something."

"That's true," said Erwin, and Mike noticed how easily and quickly he deferred to Levi. Well, Levi was a professional, wasn't he? "I'll have to deal with being relegated to backup."

"You'll survive," said Levi.

Mike smiled at them, wanly, and he was glad to escape into the kitchen, not that he found much relief there. The work was more difficult for him than he'd let on. His mother made the tea, and she hadn't let him do it since he'd arrived home. He had to get out of the chair to reach the tea, which was stored up high in one of the cabinets. He pulled himself up with some pain, but he was too proud to ask for help. Erwin wasn't the only stubborn one. 

When the tea was done, he did call for Erwin, as he couldn't both wheel himself back and carry the tea. Erwin obliged him at once. When they returned, Levi was exactly where they'd left him, sitting neatly in the armchair. Erwin handed him a teacup, and he took it by grasping the rim of the cup with his fingers. "Thank you."

They were only beginning to drink their tea, and Mike was becoming very aware of how awkward this was going to be, when the phone rang. "I'll answer it for you," said Erwin, as Mike made to roll himself back toward the phone. Mike didn't refuse the assistance this time. He was already a little tired, which didn't bode well for the rest of the day.

He and Levi were left facing each other. "It's good tea," said Levi.

"Thanks," said Mike. He'd hoped that he hadn't ruined it. "My mom likes tea a lot, but I don't usually make it."

Levi nodded, and Mike fell silent again. He tried to come up with something else to say, but Erwin returned before he could manage it. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was my mother. Her friend isn't going to be able to take her to her appointment after all, and she needs me to drive her."

Erwin's mother had had health problems for some time. They weren't life-threatening, as Mike understood, but she did need help, which was likely part of the reason Erwin visited so often, but not the only reason. Erwin and his mother were close. Close enough for Erwin to tell her that he was living with and in love with a man, something Mike didn't believe he could have done, not that there was any need to do so now.

"Do you mind staying here, Levi?" Erwin asked.

Levi studied Erwin, then glanced at Mike, as if seeking his approval. "I don't mind," he said.

"You don't have to," said Mike, who, faced with the prospect of being alone in the house with Levi for an unspecified amount of time, was unsure of how he was going to deal with it. His anxiety was rising. It wasn't that he wanted Levi to go, but he wasn't sure if he wanted him to stay, either.

"I'm staying," Levi said. Mike couldn't say what had decided him. Still holding his cup of tea by the rim, his wrist turned at an odd angle that looked uncomfortable, he took another careful sip.

"Thank you both. I'll be back as soon as I can," said Erwin.

After quickly saying his goodbyes, Erwin was gone, and silence descended again. Levi gave no sign of minding it, sipping at his tea quietly. Mike followed his example. When Levi didn't try to make small talk or look to Mike as if he expected him to talk, Mike found himself relaxing, surprisingly. If he wasn't expected to talk, then he didn't have to worry about what to say. 

Levi took his time with his tea, but after the silence had truly settled in, he was the one who broke it. "Looks like we've been set up," he said.

"What?"

"It's nothing." Levi leaned back in his chair. "Now that he's gone, let's be honest, okay?"

"All right." Mike had no idea what honesty from this man entailed, or if he wanted it, but he accepted it. He'd rather be honest than not. He wasn't good at being any other way.

"I know you don't want me here," said Levi, setting down his teacup. "I thought this was a terrible idea. Why am I here, so I can make you feel like shit? I don't get it."

Levi had a very harsh way of speaking, when Mike's parents weren't there to hear. His voice was more acidic, his words more sharply edged. Mike nodded. It was probably a terrible idea on Erwin's part, but now that he was talking to Levi, he minded it less than he'd thought he would. With a real person sitting in front of him, instead of a nebulous idea, he found it more difficult to be resentful and angry. He thought he'd wanted to be resentful and angry at the nebulous person, to focus his frustration on a stranger, but he felt a little better when he resented him less. He allowed himself to consider the fact that Erwin might be happy. Not with him, which hurt, but shouldn't he be glad, if Erwin was happy? He wasn't selfless enough to feel that way, but he considered it.

"Now that you're here, I mind less," said Mike. "Since we're being honest."

"Why?" asked Levi.

Mike shrugged. He couldn't adequately express what he was feeling, so that would have to do.

Levi narrowed his eyes, but didn't press.

"Not that I like it," said Mike.

"Of course you fucking don't," said Levi. "I wouldn't like it either." He picked up the teacup again, but it must have been almost empty, because after taking a sip, his expression was deeply dissatisfied.

"I could make some more tea," offered Mike.

"Unnecessary," was Levi's curt reply.

A certain suspicion kept surfacing in Mike's mind, whenever Levi talked. There was a familiar quality to the crisp intonation of his words and the sureness of his movements, his limp aside. "Were you in the service?"

"What did you say?"

"In the military, I mean."

"I know what you meant, but why did you ask me that?"

It might have been easier to answer why he _didn't_ think Levi had been in the service. Levi was harsh and sharp and blunt in a particular way. It was hard to pin down precisely, but he knew it when he saw it, that military air. Not that everyone in the Army had been like that. He and Erwin hadn't been, but Nile had picked up similar mannerisms.

"Marines," said Levi. That appeared to be all the information he had to offer about his military service.

That made sense, as Mike remembered that Erwin had said he didn't serve in the Army, though he'd neglected to mention anything about the Marines. "Where were you stationed?"

Levi didn't answer right away, his lips narrowing before he said, "Korea."

"So you weren't in the fighting?" Not everyone who'd been deployed had been stationed in a combat zone, but Mike had assumed that Levi's leg had been injured in the war. There was no reason for him to think that. People could be injured anywhere. They could be injured in the service when not in combat, or just walking down the street on an ordinary day. He should know better than to assume, but since he'd come home, injuries reminded him of the war. When he saw what remained of Erwin's arm, he thought of how easily Erwin could have lost more than that. What if Mike had come home after seven years to find Erwin completely gone? No, he couldn't think about that. He couldn't have dealt with that--and that was what Erwin had dealt with, he realized. In losing him, or thinking that he had. The mere thought of it was too unbearable for Mike to contemplate, but Erwin had lived through that. 

He'd been in the jungle, and they'd told him Mike had died. Your friends could die all around you, and that wasn't supposed to slow you down. You were sent out on missions, missions which could kill more of your friends, which could kill you, but you had to keep going. You couldn't stop. What would you do, if you stopped? Mike didn't want to imagine that despair, rising and growing like a vine, wrapping around you as you were forced onward into the dark leaves and the unknown. His own dark box had been bad enough, the stifling silence, the complete isolation except for moments of searing pain. It had been like the end of the world.

Levi snorted, unaware of Mike's thoughts, that Mike's mind was starting to drift away into the past. "I fought in Korea. In the Korean War."

This revelation was enough to draw Mike back into the present. The Korean War. That had been years ago. In the 'Fifties. When he and Erwin were just kids. He remembered it, because people from their town had fought there, but it was a dim memory, a foreign war on a foreign shore, glimpsed briefly on television screens and in newspapers, but never fully realized as a concept, because he'd been so young. "How--"

Levi sighed, cutting him off. "I'm forty-one."

"But--"

There was a weary, almost apologetic note to his voice as he anticipated Mike's questions. "I know, I don't look that old. But I am."

No, he didn't look it. He looked at least ten years younger than he was. He was fifteen years older than Erwin. There wasn't anything _wrong_ with that age difference. They were both adults, but it was surprising. He'd thought that Erwin would choose to be with someone more--more like them, whatever that meant. No, Erwin had chosen to be with someone who bore little, if any, resemblance to Mike. "Oh," he said.

Levi rose to his feet. "You can think what you want about it. It's not going to make me any younger," he said, without naming what he believed Mike might be thinking. "Since we have the time, I might as well look you over."

"Look me over?" He hadn't been expecting the sudden change of subject, as he was still absorbing the fact that Levi was a Korean War veteran.

"Your mother wanted my professional opinion, didn't she?" He approached the wheelchair. "We have to get you out of that chair. It's in my way."

Mike didn't enjoy being examined, but he didn't resist, because it was what his mother wanted. The idea of being handled by Levi was an intimidating one, but he didn't see what harm it would do--and it would take the pressure off of him, giving him something to focus on other than the uncomfortable need to make conversation.

Levi's age wasn't the only surprising thing about him. He was unexpectedly strong, helping Mike out of his chair with ease. He was compact, but he must have been entirely muscle, considering how easily was Mike shifted from the wheelchair to the couch. "I usually don't perform examinations like this," said Levi. "I'm usually in the goddamn hospital, for one thing." He clearly didn't appreciate the informal setting, but that didn't stop him. 

He knelt on the couch and set his hand on Mike's back. Mike would have felt more odd about being touched by Levi, but the contact was so impersonal and practical that it put him at ease. "I want you to move your arms, exactly as I say. If it hurts, you tell me, and if it hurts too much, you stop."

"Right."

"Good."

He followed Levi's instructions, moving exactly as he was told, and Levi's grip shifted periodically, his hands resting at different points on Mike's body as he concentrated. He must have been studying the way the muscles moved, through touch alone. "There's a lot of scar tissue here."

"Yeah--there was a fire when the plane crashed."

Levi glanced at the back of Mike's neck. Mike knew that the scarring rose from his back, up his neck, and onto his scalp. His hair was growing out after having been cropped short by the doctors when he was initially released, but the scars on his neck were still plainly visible.

"I'll move on to your legs. Is that all right?"

Mike nodded.

Levi was very careful about where he placed his hands, focusing his touch mainly on Mike's hips and knees and on the outsides of his legs. Levi told him to lift his legs, to move them to the right, to the left, and all around, testing the full range of his mobility. Mike obliged him, although he wondered what Levi was thinking, as, for a while, his instructions were the only words he spoke. The expression on his face was one of intense concentration, but no definite emotion.

His legs were in worse shape than his arms. They ached, and Levi's instructions became harder to follow, but he did his best.

"What are you doing?" Levi asked suddenly, pulling his hand back.

"I was doing what you said."

"No, you weren't. I told you to stop if it hurts too much."

"It's not so bad."

"I felt you seize up. The body experiences pain for a reason. It's a warning. Pushing through it doesn't help. Fucking stop if you need to stop. You're going to strain yourself and make it worse."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," Levi snapped. "Just follow my instructions."

"Yes," said Mike, resisting the urge to say _yes, sir_ in response to that tone. They continued on, and he was more careful, telling Levi when it hurt. Levi appreciated this, nodding each time, as if he understood.

Levi's examination was thorough, and when he had finished, he sat on the couch next to Mike, but at a respectful distance. "Tell me about your treatment. What have the doctors done? What did they say?" 

Mike told him. The full rundown didn't take long. His treatment had lasted only a few months, and it hadn't varied a great deal. At the end of his account, Levi's lips pursed, his eyes narrowing. He didn't look pleased, but he continued to keep the majority of his opinions to himself. "You haven't been doing much work at home," he said.

Mike couldn't deny this in good conscience. "Not really." He hadn't been doing much at all, outside of his visits to the doctor.

"Who could blame you? You feel like shit." He ran a hand through his hair as he visibly searched for what to say. "Not that that means you shouldn't work on it, because you should. But I know it's not that easy."

"No," said Mike.

"I'm probably making things worse by being here, but your health is important to me, so I'm going to do what I can to fix some of this mess."

It was odd, but the way Levi said it made it sound that he had come here to help him rather than for Erwin or any other reason. "Why is it important?" Mike asked.

Levi shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be? That's what I do." 

That was a valid answer, but he sounded so grim as he said it, not like someone who enjoyed what he did. "Did that happen in the war?" Mike asked, glancing down at Levi's leg, finally daring to ask him a personal question.

If the question bothered Levi, he didn't show it, answering immediately. "It did. I nearly lost it." He said the words as if it didn't matter, as if the injury were well in the past and didn't trouble him any longer.

"Is that why you do this?"

"No," said Levi. "It isn't."

Mike felt he had pried enough, so when Levi offered no further explanation, he didn't ask him any more questions. If Levi wanted to tell him why he'd become a physical therapist, he'd tell him.

"I'd like some more tea," said Levi.

"I can--" Mike began to answer.

"No, I'll do it. I'll take you with me and you can show me where everything is."

"But it's not--"

"No," said Levi again, patiently. Mike didn't have time to formulate another protest. Levi was already helping him back into his chair. "You're going to strain yourself if I let you do it. And honestly, you let it steep for too long last time. I'll show you how it's done."

"Yes, sir."

Levi paused and regarded Mike suspiciously at this, as if he wasn't quite sure whether he was joking. Mike was no help on that count, because he wasn't sure himself.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun went down, taking the day with it. The next morning was fast approaching, and they'd be flying out from the base tomorrow. It was all ahead of them: the sea, another country, and the unknown, mere hours away. Time wouldn't stop, or so much as hesitate, no matter how much Mike wished it to slow, and it wouldn't hurry itself, either. He wanted it to do both at once. He wasn't eager to join in the fighting, but he wanted the waiting, the strain of nervous anticipation, to be over. No matter how long the wait lasted, the war would be at the end of it, so he'd prefer to be done with it. This long stretch of dread was weighing on him. All their focus, all their training, all their toil: it was leading up to one moment, one place, and he wanted to be there already.

In combat, he'd meet with a nightmare, but the waiting was its own kind of suffering. The sooner he left, the sooner he could do his job and come home. That was what everyone wanted, no matter their feelings about the war or their place in it--to come home at the end of it.

Drinking dulled the edge of anxiety, and it was no wonder he and his friends had made the choice to go drinking that night, in spite of the fact that they had an early morning tomorrow. They were far from the only ones who'd made that decision. If anyone was doubting that their departure was imminent, they only had to glance in any direction to see the nervous young men too eager to have a good time. The bar was loud, and there was no shortage of people to talk to, including women to flirt with, yet Mike and Erwin and Nile had ended up in a corner together, talking with their voices raised, to be heard over the crowd.

It wasn't as if they didn't have other friends among their fellow soldiers, but they were the only three from Roseville here, and that mattered, on a night like this. They'd drifted away from the others and into each other's company. They hadn't planned it. It happened naturally. The three of them were supposed to be together.

"I don't know about you two," said Nile, "but I know exactly what I'm gonna do once we win this war."

"Nile," Erwin laughed, "we're not even over there yet."

Nile snorted, as if affronted, but he didn't mean it. That was the way he and Erwin talked to each other, whether they were angry with each other or pleased. "That doesn't matter. I know."

"Then tell us, please," said Erwin, "since you're clearly so eager to."

"I know you're giving me shit, but I don't care." He was eager, and Erwin and Mike both largely suspected what he was going to say, but they let him go on. "The first thing I'm going to do is come right back home and propose to Marie. I'm ready for it. I've got the ring and everything." This was a happy announcement, but after making, it Nile sighed. Mike, who'd been smiling at him, frowned.

"And why didn't you propose already?" Erwin kept up the questions, sensing that Nile wanted to speak more and giving him what he wanted, and Mike leaned back as he listened, nursing his beer. "Why keep her waiting if you're going to be gone so long?" The answers to these questions weren't a mystery, but Erwin was faithfully playing his role as a friend.

"Her parents didn't like the idea. They want a big wedding, don't want to rush things. They say it's too soon. But it's fine. I don't mind waiting. Rushing to get married before deployment's a bad idea. It's like admitting you don't think you'll come back."

Mike could tell by the way Nile said it that he'd wanted to do it. Someone--or several people--must have talked him out of it, probably his family and Marie's family. He and Erwin would most likely have tried to convince him to go for it, but they were his friends and not his family. "I'm going to come back," Nile said. "And then we'll get married and have kids. Three kids. I'll name one after Mike, one after you, Erwin, and--yeah, Marie'll have something to say about the names, too, so I'm not sure about that..." Nile had had a few beers already. "But probably!"

"I'd be honored," said Erwin, clapping Nile on the back.

"How about you, Mike?" Nile turned toward him suddenly. "You're not saying much over there. What do you think?"

His quiet wasn't unusual. He often listened patiently while Erwin and Nile talked, but tonight, Nile must have thought he was worried. He was right. "What do I think about your kids? That's a great idea. Can't wait to see them."

"See them?" Nile laughed. "You and your goddamn understatements. You're gonna be their uncle, so you'll be babysitting all the time, be ready. But that's not what I meant--I meant what are you gonna do?"

Nile and Erwin were both looking at him now, both smiling, and Mike didn't know how to answer. He'd thought about the future. Didn't everyone? Yet there were parts of it he'd deliberately avoided contemplating. "I want to go to college," he said. "Be a teacher like my mom. I always liked kids. So I'd like to do that."

"Mike, you're too good for us all," said Nile, but Erwin was silent, watching him.

"I'm not that good, Nile..." Mike rolled his eyes a little. Sometimes Nile could go on like this. At his worst, he tried even Mike's patience, but he wasn't being that bad tonight.

"Sure you are. You're the goodest--the most good--the best of us."

"Thanks, Nile." He got most of Nile's compliments, while Erwin got the complaints.

"But," Nile continued, "you've got to settle down, too. You're going to get married, right? I can't be the only one."

"You want Mike to get married because you're getting married?" Erwin was amused by this, laughing into his beer. "What a thoughtful friend."

"Shut up, Erwin." Nile elbowed him. Erwin spilled some of his beer and cursed, mildly. "What about Nan?" asked Nile. "I always thought you and her made a great couple. She likes you a lot. She's pretty, too."

"Yeah, I like Nan," said Mike uncertainly. He glanced at Erwin. He couldn't marry Erwin. That was a ridiculous idea, and he wasn't sure why it surfaced in his mind long enough for him to tell himself he couldn't. He pushed it away. "But I don't know about that. I like her, but we're not together anymore. I guess I'll get married and have kids. Eventually." That was what people did, so he'd do it. He'd always expected that that was where his life would lead. It wasn't that he disliked the idea. He had no reason to object to it, but he didn't enjoy thinking about it, because getting married would change too much. It would take away from him. He and Erwin would no longer have their special arrangement, the shared secrets that bound them. He'd have to stop, if he had a wife and a family. You couldn't do that, if you were married. Erwin must have known that, too. Erwin was still watching him, and he was still smiling, interested but unreadable. What did Erwin think about it? Did he see it as a way to satisfy themselves until they got married? 

Or was that wrong? What if it meant more than that to Erwin, and he thought Mike was the one who was waiting until he met a woman? Mike met his gaze with intent, as if he could communicate with him through a look alone, but he didn't know what he was trying to say. Mostly that he didn't mean it that way, that he didn't think it meant nothing, but he didn't know what it _did_ mean.

He had no good idea of what he was trying to communicate, but Erwin, to his relief, nodded. Nile didn't appear to notice this exchange. "Right, you will, and your kids and my kids will be best friends," Nile decided.

"Everything's going to be that easy?" Erwin asked.

Nile stopped just short of elbowing him again. "I didn't say it was going to be _easy_ \--but what about you? Erwin."

"Now you want to know my romantic future? Nile, I had no idea you had such strong feelings about this. You should start a matchmaking service when you get home."

"Shut up and answer the question." Nile contradicted himself without realizing it.

Erwin's lips quirked, but instead of asking how he could both shut up and answer the question at the same time, he humored Nile. "I'm not going to get married. I'm planning to travel, after the war. I'd like to see more of the world. Europe, India, South America... I'd like to understand the world better, and the people in it. There's so much I haven't seen."

"Always have to be the odd one out," chastised Nile, but his tone was fond. "That sounds like you. Fine, see the world, but I know you're going to find someone someday, and then you'll end up back in Roseville with me and Mike."

"No, I won't," said Erwin. His tone was as mild as before, but Mike was aware that he was sincere. He meant what he said, and he didn't want to go back home. He'd talked about traveling before, and the places he'd like to see, but Mike hadn't connected those ideas with their true meaning: that Erwin wouldn't return, to live down the street from him. Their kids wouldn't grow up together as friends, like they had. It wouldn't be like Nile's vision of the future. They weren't going to live their parents' lives, or anything like them.

Nile couldn't tell that this was what Erwin meant, but he was drunk, and he couldn't read Erwin as well. Erwin had a private, unspoken language that was difficult for anyone to decipher. Nile laughed and said Erwin was full of shit, one of his terms of endearment for Erwin. The conversation moved on, but Mike wasn't able to follow it as well. Nile's question about the future had left him more confused about his. 

Fortunately, the conversation that followed wasn't heavy or hard to follow, at first mostly involving women, beer, their fellow soldiers, and their commanding officers. Then it moved on to home, to their families, all the little details and unforgettable large ones that they were leaving behind. It was good to talk about them, but thinking of them made them easier to miss.

For a while, it almost seemed like they'd make it all night without sleeping, but it was Nile who gave in first. "I'm so fucking tired," he said at last, leaning forward with his arms on the bar. "I'm going to be dead tomorrow if I don't get back now." He rose to his feet, glancing at his friends. "You coming?"

"No," said Erwin, "I'll stay out a little longer."

"Me too," said Mike, who rarely passed up an opportunity to spend time alone with Erwin.

"You guys are going to be sorry," said Nile. He usually wasn't one to counsel going home early, but he was right, in that tomorrow was different. It wasn't an ordinary day. Yet neither Mike nor Erwin wavered.

"I'm sorry, Nile," said Erwin, with a smile, "but Mike and I have some important business."

"Important--? Oh, I get it." Nile nodded as comprehension dawned on him, or he believed it did. He turned slowly to survey the rest of the bar and its patrons. "Looks like you're not the only ones with that idea." Many of their fellow soldiers had taken up with female companions. The voices of men and the voices of women rose and fell together, over the clinking of glasses and the aggressively cheerful songs spewed from the jukebox. A few couples were dancing, but most were more interested in standing still, drinking, or talking--or other pursuits. Not all of these were suited to a public place, but that didn't stop some of the couples from becoming very close here in the bar. There were some really pretty girls. If circumstances had been different, Mike might have been interested getting to know one of them better. "Good luck, you two," said Nile. "I'm sure you'll have a great time. I've got a girl back home, so I'm going to bed."

"Night, Nile," said Mike, and Erwin waved.

"I love Nile dearly, but I'm glad he's gone," said Erwin, once their friend was out the door. He took another deep sip of his beer, finishing it off. "Let's go." He rose from his seat, and Mike followed without questioning him. "I'm guessing we were thinking the same thing," said Erwin, once they were out in the parking lot, moving away from the crowd and down the street. The air out there was fresher, free of cigarette smoke, and Mike breathed it in deeply. As he'd been nursing beers all night, he had a slightly warm, slightly tipsy feeling, without the haze of drunkenness. Erwin didn't seem drunk, but then, he often didn't seem drunk when he was.

"Yeah?" Had Erwin understood his wordless communication?

Erwin leaned in closer. It made his heart speed up, to see him so close, close enough that he could smell him, the sweat and aftershave on his skin. "Let's get a motel room."

"But--we have to be back in a few hours."

"We'll only need it for a few hours, Mike," said Erwin, with a laugh.

"Oh. Right."

He knew that what they were doing was wrong. Everyone said it was, but after years of doing it, it was hard to think of it that way. He had to remember. He couldn't be complacent. It was dangerous. Whenever they were together like this, there was a risk. If they were discovered, they'd be ejected from the army in disgrace. Depending on who discovered them, things could be much worse. It worried Mike. He didn't want anyone to hurt Erwin. Erwin was good in a fight, but if they were outnumbered... but hopefully, that would never happen. They were as careful as they could be, but doing anything at all involved a measure of foolishness. In the Army, it wasn't like back home, when they could lie in each other's beds after school, kissing while listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall.

There were a few motels in town. Mike waited outside while Erwin got the room. It wasn't odd for a soldier to rent a room for a night, but two men renting one together, without any women present, might strike someone as unusual. Once Erwin had the keys in hand, he entered first, and Mike waited a few minutes before heading in, walking quietly through the darkness, scanning the shadows. It was quiet, and there didn't seem to be anyone watching. Mike opened the door--Erwin had left it unlocked--and quickly slipped inside.

Erwin was seated on the edge of the bed. He had already taken off his shirt. Incapable of resisting that sight, Mike locked the door behind him, then took a seat beside him, wrapping his arms around him, his mouth finding Erwin's shoulder, then his throat, leaving a line of kisses leading up toward his jaw. At times like this, it felt like this _was_ all about sex. Mike couldn't think of anything else. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pressing Erwin down into the mattress, straddling him. Erwin's hands were stroking him, undoing the buttons of his shirt. Right now, fucking Erwin was the only thing in the world that he wanted. 

His worries had evaporated. They would be back, but they were gone now, washed away by his desire. It had been too long since he'd last fucked Erwin. He had to have him again. He kissed his mouth, then licked and bit at his neck, his chest. Erwin said his name, and Mike started to strip him of his pants.

"Wait, I have something in there--" Erwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of vaseline.

Mike stared at it. "Did you have that on you all night?"

"I did."

He must have been planning this. Thinking of Erwin wanting him, waiting for him, made Mike feel all the more desperate. He took the tube from Erwin, then pulled off his trousers, ridding him of the last of his clothes. Erwin was doing much the same for him. He wished they could do this every night. He wanted to do it all the time.

Erwin pulled him close. They were both hard already, and eager. Mike hurriedly squeezed the vaseline out onto his fingers, then pressed his fingers inside Erwin. He was sure this would drive him mad, his suppressed urges given an outlet all at once, but he didn't go mad. By some miracle, his mind held together. Erwin sighed beneath him, and when he was wet and ready, Mike flipped him over onto his belly and bore down onto him, pressed inside him. Erwin felt so tight around his cock, so warm beneath him, and they were both so slick that it was easy to fuck him hard. It was always like this, by necessity, rough and quick, and the urgency had become a habit. Erwin spread his legs and asked for it. Mike couldn't deny him anything. He gave him whatever he wanted.

Who knew when they'd next have the time or freedom to do this? This was a luxury: this tiny, ugly motel room with the cracked walls and brown carpet and creaking bed. Mike kissed Erwin's shoulders and his face, as he was seldom able to do. Erwin raised his hips to take him in deeper, and he couldn't bear it. It was too hot and close, and his body was just going to fall apart, because it felt so good. But he didn't fall apart. He drove his cock in, again and again, and when he couldn't take it anymore, he came inside Erwin, clenching his jaw and pressing his lips together so he wouldn't cry out.

Erwin hadn't come yet. He was panting, still saying Mike's name, softly. Once he pulled out, Mike turned him over onto his back and sank down between his legs. He licked at him, then slid his lips over the head of Erwin's cock. It didn't take long. Erwin grabbed his head, fingers twisting in his hair, and with a jerk of his hips, he flooded Mike's mouth with come. Closing his eyes, Mike breathed in deep, smelling Erwin's scent in his sweat as he tasted and swallowed him.

When Mike moved up to lie beside Erwin, Erwin held out an arm, then wrapped it around him, holding him close. "Mike..." Mike put an arm across his chest, coming to rest on him, and Erwin kissed the top of his head, then ran his fingers over his short-cropped hair.

"That feels good," Mike murmured, lying still while his breathing steadied, his ability to move slowly returning to him after his release. 

Erwin's hands stroked Mike body, his fingers lightly passing over his back and his arm. "I've been waiting for that all day. All week. More than that."

"Erwin?"

"Mm? What is it, Mike?"

"Do you think you will get married someday?"

Erwin laughed a little, incredulously, then shook his head. He rarely displayed surprise at Mike's words, but his confusion at this was unmistakable. "Mike--you're asking me that now?"

"Yeah." He belatedly realized it wasn't the best time to talk about marriage, while they were naked and lying in bed together.

Erwin sighed. "Then it looks like we're going to talk about it. I really don't know, Mike. It isn't an issue. I do want to travel. You know that already. We talked about it."

"Yeah, we did."

"I don't see why you can't come with me." Erwin lay back, letting out his breath. Mike stayed where he was, listening: to the sound of Erwin's breath, the sound of his heart, the sound of his words, low and deep. "Imagine what that will be like, nothing but the open road in front of us. We'll finally be free. No little town, no rules, no expectations, just you and me. Can you imagine what that would be like?"

"I'll try," said Mike. It wasn't his own vision, so it didn't come to him naturally, but when Erwin talked about it, it sounded like a wonderful dream. Yet it was Erwin, not Mike, who spoke of wanting to be free of their "little town". "But at the end of it, we'll come home?"

"I don't know," said Erwin. He took Mike's hand in his, sobering. A cold calm crept into his voice. "I don't know what's going to happen. I answered Nile's question, but honestly, that was to appease him. Right now, I can't focus on a future that may not come to pass. It's too much of a distraction. I can't afford to be daydreaming, or making decisions in order to preserve a fantasy. It could impair my judgment."

It was such a coolly logical way to look at the world, but Mike saw the sense in it. Erwin was an excellent soldier. He kept a level head, and he could concoct plans quickly, with little preparation. No one could match him during training exercises. He was much better than Mike, where strategizing was concerned. He was talking like that soldier now, but moments before, he'd been talking about another world entirely. Of being free of rules, which would mean being free of the Army. It was like he had two conflicting ideas at once, one laid on top of the other. Erwin could be too difficult to figure out. He had so many layers.

"It's not that I don't make long range plans," Erwin went on, "but I have to bear in mind the situation could change at any moment. There are too many variables involved. Even if exactly what Nile wants to happen happens, it won't be anything like he thinks. It might not be what he wants."

Mike nodded. Erwin was right. He was so often right, but Mike didn't like to hear him sound so cold. "But sometimes," he said, "it's nice to have something to hope for."

Erwin rubbed Mike's head, fondly. There wasn't currently enough of his Army-short hair to ruffle. "You're right." Some of the warmth seeped back into his voice. "Otherwise, what are we fighting for? All right, I promise, I'll hope for something. Does that make you happy?"

"Yeah, it does. Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"I already did. The open road. Being free. How's that? Does it meet with your approval, Zacharius?"

"It's good enough. I approve," said Mike, but he noticed that Erwin didn't ask him what he hoped for. He wasn't sure why. With Erwin, his actions and lack thereof were rarely accidental--unless it was that he was drunk and tired and anxious and didn't think to ask. That was a possibility. Mike knew what he would say now, but he was glad Erwin didn't ask, because his answer would have made him feel silly. Erwin's dream was a good dream to have. It was simple, and it was clear. When Mike closed his eyes, he could envision it: the blue above them, clear and wide, and before them, a road. They'd be driving together, in a car--it didn't matter what kind of car. What mattered was the world around them: towns and cities and forests and open plains, moving past and falling away. And then, at the end of it all, the sea, as wide as the sky and as open. There was nowhere they couldn't go. They could go across the sea, too, if they wanted. It wasn't a real end. It was another beginning.

"Mike, are you sleeping?"

He opened his eyes at once. "I'm awake."

"Good. We have a lot more time to make up for, and we have to make this last a while."

Erwin sat up, and Mike moved with him. He kissed him. He touched his face, his neck, his chest. Their bodies came together again. Mike wanted to remember every part of him, every line. He pressed his hand to Erwin's heart, so he could feel it beating beneath his fingers. He kept wanting to hear it, to know it was still beating, and that was because he was afraid that, sometime soon, it might stop.

***

That had been a long time ago. A little less than three years later, his plane went down, and he was captured. Mere months after that, Erwin had fallen under a rain of enemy fire, his arm so badly wounded that it had to be amputated. Nile had been left alone in the jungle, without his friends. Mike didn't know much about what had happened to Nile after that. Nile avoided talking about it, but at the end of it, he had come home. His dream had come true. Even Erwin's had. As he'd said, it hadn't been anything like what he'd expected, but he'd gotten to travel. He was living far away from Roseville, over on the East Coast. He had a whole new life, and maybe that meant he was free.

It was Mike whose dream hadn't come true, in any sense. Now he was back home, unable to walk, talking to the man that Erwin loved instead of him. He hated that, but he shouldn't complain. He couldn't. There were tens of thousands of men who would have given anything to be where he was: alive. So he would bear with it.

"I can help you," said Levi, once they both had more tea and were seated again. Mike felt he'd learned a lot about tea from Levi. He'd be prepared the next time his mother let him make it. "But you have to do more work than you've been doing. Can you do that?"

"I think so."

"That's not a good enough answer." There was no softness in Levi's voice as he said this. This, too, was familiar to Mike from the military. He responded to it.

"Yes. I can do it."

"Better," said Levi. "You won't officially be my patient, since I'm not here in an official capacity, but I'll see what I can do. Better than those shit doctors you've been seeing, I'm sure."

Mike made himself smile, because Levi was trying to be kind to him, and there was nothing pitying about it. It didn't make him happy, because he couldn't be happy about this situation, but it was better than he'd expected. Levi was respectful and careful. Mike was angry, but he found it difficult to be angry at Levi. He couldn't find anywhere to focus his anger. He wasn't often given to fits of temper, but letting himself get mad might have felt good--yelling at someone or breaking something. But who would he yell at? His parents? Erwin? Nile? Doing that would make him feel worse. He hardly knew Levi, and he had no right to yell at him for caring about Erwin. Breaking things would only upset everyone, and afterward, plates or vases or windows would be left shattered, and nothing would have changed.

"It's going to be a fucking pain, but you know that," said Levi. He was watching Mike closely, and Mike could read in his sober expression that the physical therapy was the least of what he meant. There were other, more difficult matters involved.

Mike nodded. He knew that well. He'd only just met Levi, but in some ways, they already understood each other, although the information Mike had on Levi was scant. He asked himself, had Levi ever had a dream? Did he have one now? Erwin had very carefully avoided discussing him, and all Mike was aware of was his job and that he'd once been in the Marines. Everyone had a dream at some point, didn't they? Mike used to think that it was good to have one, that it brought hope. Erwin had been more cautious, and Mike had come to see why. A dream could be painful, too, when you lost it.


	7. Chapter 7

"Good morning, Mike." His mother had let Nan in, and she waved at him cheerfully as he rolled into the living room. He could tell she was being cheerful, although she was one of the more subdued people he knew.

"Hi, Nan." She usually came to visit him on Saturday mornings. The Roseville public library was a small one, and her schedule was full, but not demanding. She said she liked it, and he believed her, but more than once, he'd found himself watching her and noticing that there had once been a happiness in her that was gone now: when they'd been children, and then teenagers. He was sure he wasn't misremembering. She used to smile more openly, her eyes brightening. She used to laugh more. Her mouth was curving upward as she rested her eyes on him, but the gesture was faded and faint.

His own smile must have been similar, but he offered it to her earnestly. It was good to see her after yesterday. Her presence was known and not troubling, unlike the unknown Levi and the much more familiar yet far more unsettling Erwin.

"I brought you some more books," she said, gesturing to the usual bag in her hands.

It was nice to have a routine, certainties he could depend on, like Nan and her books. "I haven't had a chance to read many this week," said Mike, apologetically. He'd been distracted by anticipating Erwin's visit, and then, by his arrival itself. He was finding it hard to settle down and pick up a book. When he did, he read a few pages, but his attention quickly drifted.

"That's all right." Nan set the bag down. "You can keep them as long as you like."

"Thanks. Oh, I did read the seagull one," Mike remembered.

"That one's been so popular," said Nan. "Everyone must have read it by now. We still get asked for it all the time. Did you like it?"

"I know the seagull got religion--or enlightened, if that's the word for it--it was kind of weird, coming from a seagull. Maybe I didn't get it."

"No." She shook her head. The little smile didn't leave her lips. "It sounds like you got it fine."

It had been easy to read, and he hadn't disliked it, but it hadn't joined the ranks of his favorite books, popular or no. "I'd like to read _Catch 22_ again--do you have that one?" It was an old favorite of his, but he hadn't read it since he'd come home. He used to have a copy in the house, but his parents had gone through all the books at some point, and it was either gone, or hiding in a box in the attic.

Nan put her bag of books down, then almost sat--but thought better of it, straightening again. "We do... Are you sure you want to read it?" She blurted the question, then looked guilty for having asked it.

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" asked Mike, but he immediately knew the answer to his own question. It was a book about war. People were careful not to mention war to him if they didn't have to. It was frustrating, when he noticed it, because how could they avoid it? War was everywhere: on the news, on television shows, in movies, in books. When someone took him into town, he saw it in the newspapers or heard people talk about it, not constantly, but often enough that there was no escaping from the whisper, the shadow of it. Not just Vietnam. There was always a war, somewhere in the world, or the threat of one, like a stormcloud; you could see it and sense it in the air, from a long way away.

"Oh, no reason."

He didn't mention it to her, because he didn't want to embarrass her, but now that he stopped to consider it, he couldn't miss the fact that the books she'd been bringing him had been carefully chosen. They'd tended to be about home life, families and friendships--and the odd magical seagull. There hadn't been any books about foreign wars among her selections. He wasn't upset with her for her selectiveness. It was nice that she was looking after him. He hadn't tried to read a war book since coming home, and he didn't know what its effect on him might be, but he didn't believe that he had to avoid entire mountains of books, an entire subject of literature, an inescapable part of human life. "Do you want to go on a walk?" Nan asked, changing the subject.

The weather was cool, but the last of winter's bite had been left behind. It was a spring chill, with no teeth in it. Perfect weather, to Mike's mind. He wasn't looking forward to summer. He used to love lazy summer days, but they no longer held the charm they once had. He'd spent summers with Erwin when he was a child. That wouldn't be the case this year, and after a long haze of hot months sweltering in prison, he'd gladly accept a few years without summer included. "I'd like that."

Nan was glad to push his chair, managing it easily. She was becoming an expert in these maneuvers, movements smooth yet careful as she conveyed him over the front stoop to the sidewalk beyond. He hardly felt the bumps beneath the wheels of the chair. The silence between them was companionable. Neither of them were big talkers, which suited Mike fine. It wasn't unusual during her visits for the two of them to read together for a while, speaking little. It wasn't odd to him, to commune without words. It was no wonder that he and Nan got along so well.

When she did talk, there was nothing forced or sudden about it. She spoke, and he listened. "Can I ask you about the war?" she said softly.

"You can ask me whatever you want," said Mike, which was his general policy toward people he liked, but the people he liked had proven to be careful of him, and they hadn't asked him much about the war. Erwin and Nile didn't need to ask.

They were far down the street, the wheels of his chair rolling easily over the pavement for the most part, though there were points where it was broken in places and Nan slowed down, so the unevenness would jar him less. She was a cautious person. If she had a particular question to ask, she didn't ask it right away. "When you all went away to the Army, I wanted to go too."

"You did?" When she said you all, she must have meant him and Erwin and Nile. Other boys from the town had gone, but she was closest to the three of them. When they were very small, the four of them would play together, tussling in the grass, climbing trees, or running down sidewalks or through fields like children did, for the pleasure of running rather than toward any goal. They might all have been brothers, only Nan was a girl, and when she'd grown older, their friendships had changed. Girls were supposed to wear skirts. Told to play different games. They didn't roughhouse. Why was that? She'd grown apart from them, although he and Nan had later tried--and mostly failed--to date. He couldn't remember wanting the change to happen, but it was what everyone had understood would happen. Nan probably hadn't wanted it either. He wondered how much of life was doing what other people expected. That wasn't right. He glanced back at her. The sun shone on her short, pale hair, outlining her head and her pointed face with light. Her smile had disappeared.

"If I were a boy, I would have gone, too." She hesitated, then went on. "I know, there were women there. I know they worked hard, I don't mean to say they weren't heroes. But I didn't want to be a nurse. I wanted to be a soldier, to fight with the rest of you. It didn't seem possible, back then." Their pace slowed further, although the sidewalk was even where they were. "It was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Since we left town? Yeah." In one sense it wasn't, in the larger scheme of things, but in another sense, it had affected them in the same way that many more years would have.

"It feels like it was another world."

He didn't disagree with that. It did. It was another world, a long time ago.

"Do you think it was worth it, fighting over there?"

A lot of people had said it wasn't, Erwin included. There were a number of staunch anti-war veterans, and there were others, like Nile, who supported the decisions of their government and military, who didn't question the command hierarchy too closely. Mike was in the process of making up his mind on the subject. It wasn't an easy question. "The people who died didn't die for nothing. They believed in something. They wanted people to be free." He questioned his own words as he said them. He was trying to be truthful, but he was trying to be kind. Those words were what he wanted to believe, but that was like a kid's story of the war. He'd been that kid, once, joining up to fight for his country.

_They wanted people to be free._

They hadn't all understood why they were fighting. In some ways, Mike remained unclear on the full extent of the war had been about, who had said what, and which alliances had reared up into hostilities at which moment. When promises became blood. What had the soldiers wanted? Some of the men he'd stood beside had fought with hatred. Some had wanted to go home. Those of them who'd fought on the front lines had killed. He'd killed people. He hadn't forgotten them, lives that had stopped short, because of him. He could have visualized them now, if he'd let himself. Not that he'd seen all their faces, but he'd imagined them, like ghosts gathered around him, in the dark. He didn't want to believe that they'd died for nothing, either, that anyone had.

Who wanted to believe that?

It was easy to be cynical about the reasons for the war, and it would have been reassuring to drown that cynicism out, but Mike found he couldn't echo either Erwin or Nile. "No--I don't know if it was the right decision, but we have to deal with it, now." He frowned, because what he was saying wasn't an answer, and he had to force the words out. He was no politician, and he wasn't a man of words, like Erwin. "I think--it's complicated."

"What was it like? Vietnam itself?"

Mike was never one for poetic descriptions. "It could be beautiful, but it was frightening sometimes." No, that wasn't good enough. It sounded distant and vague. "It's a place where people live, and they go about their ordinary lives. Like us. You'd see them smiling and laughing, and there were little kids playing--but you knew in one second, all of that could stop. There would be a noise, a fire. It would be gone, and I thought that--that was the worst thing, that this normal life was being taken away. Everyday lives, just--Suddenly they were gone. But there were good people there. And bad ones. Ordinary people. The jungle was the worst, because you couldn't see anything but the jungle itself. Not what was in it, if that makes sense. It would swallow you up."

He rarely said so much at once. Nan was listening to him, letting him talk for as long as he wanted. "Then I was in the dark, for a long time." Look what it had done to him: it had left him wasted, barely able to move, nervous and tired. He couldn't say that that was worth it. "I'm glad you didn't go." Erwin and Nile weren't the same anymore, not really. They were still his friends, the people he cared about, but it was as if parts of them were missing, or had been changed, and not only literally, as in Erwin's case.

"I wouldn't have wanted to lose you," he said. He didn't dislike the idea because she was a woman. He didn't want anyone he cared about over there. "So don't think--" The realization of what she must have been thinking came to him at once, without warning. He wondered why he hadn't seen it before, but he was missing things, too: he didn't view the world and other people as clearly as he used to. "Don't think you let us down by not going with us. Or anything like that."

"Okay," she said. "I won't think that."

He wished he could do or say something else to reassure her, but he didn't know what that could be. They were new to him, these hidden parts of her. There were parts of her that had gone away or changed, too. Did that happen to everyone, as they grew up and grew older? Or was it only some people? 

"Is it like it is in the books? War, I mean." Her laughter was soft, but more embarrassed than amused. "That's a silly question."

"It's not silly. It's like that, sort of..." He hadn't read any books about war since coming home, but he hadn't forgotten. So many stories were made up of wars. Movies, too. People tried to express what it was like, and some came closer than others, but a book could never be the same as reality. But it was good to try to write it down, to talk about it, so people understood it, as well as they could. "I'd say, it's different for everybody. So everybody has their own war that they fight in. I wouldn't say Erwin's was the same as mine, even if we started out together and fought together. We were together, but then, we were alone." Did that make sense? This was one of those times that he felt his limitations keenly, but Nan didn't question him further.

There was more strain between them than usual in the silence that followed these statements, but it wasn't a bad silence, nonetheless. They'd made their way to Main Street, which was lined with shops and restaurants. He could see the town hall, one of the first buildings that had ever been built in Roseville. It was also one of the only ones with pillars, although it only had a few of them. As he and Nan traveled down the street, people stopped to wave at them or say hello. It was a small town. There were people he didn't recognize, but more often than not, when they came across a pedestrian or a cyclist out enjoying the weather, it would be someone who knew him or Nan or both. 

They had a fair amount of waving and smiling to do, a chore for quiet people, but the tendency of people to be careful of Mike worked in his favor. They didn't want to bother him or tire him, so after a few friendly words, they moved on. Mike was aware that he made no few of them uncomfortable, but he didn't blame them for that. They didn't mean any harm. They didn't know how to react to him, and they worried about saying the wrong thing.

"You must have missed him a lot," said Nan, once they'd regained the relative privacy of an empty sidewalk.

Mike didn't need to ask who she meant. "Yeah, I did." He continued to miss Erwin. Their relationship wasn't what it used to be. They were inseparable once. Long ago, he never would have imagined that a time could come when they didn't see each other for years. Or that, once they were reunited, they would let weeks pass without seeing each other, as if it was nothing. As if it was natural. That was something else you lost when you grew up--not just yourself, but other people.

"I used to be jealous," she said.

This was another unexpected revelation from Nan, but Mike didn't say anything to it, allowing her to continue, which she did, in another minute. "Not of you, or of him in particular, but of that kind of friendship. You were so close, like you understood each other perfectly, like you were the same. Like--I don't know how to put it, but it was something I wished I could have. Someone to be with all the time." She broke off, and she sounded unusually flustered. He didn't turn around to look at her, but she must have been flushed, any frown on her face a slight one, because she didn't express her emotions strongly. "I don't mean to be too personal. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You really can say what you want." He didn't mind the things she said to him, even if they hurt. "Erwin's a good friend," said Mike. The words were inadequate, for many reasons.

"You must be happy he's here," said Nan, but he thought he detected an uncertain note in her voice. He wasn't sure, because she kept her feelings close and quiet, and he didn't want to question her words and imply that she didn't mean what she'd said. Nan walked a little farther, then stopped. "We should be getting back. I don't want to tire you out. I know it's a busy week for you."

It was, but he wouldn't have minded a longer walk. The longer he was out of the house, distracted, the longer he could avoid dealing with the feelings Erwin stirred in him. Not that Nan had done a good job of distracting him, but that wasn't her responsibility. She couldn't have known that Erwin was one of the subjects that distressed him. People avoided talking about the war, but they knew of no reason to avoid the subject of Erwin, his best friend. Mike hadn't told them about that, and he wouldn't.

Nan's presence was usually calming, but today, after she left, Mike found himself more agitated rather than less. _Someone to be with, all the time_ , Nan had said. Why couldn't Mike be with Erwin? The simplest answer was that Erwin had chosen otherwise. 

Mike's mother was still at home, but his father had gone out fishing, and Mike hadn't seen him yet today. He didn't disturb his mother, who was probably reading. Instead, he made his way to the phone and dialed slowly, watching the circle of the rotary dial spin as he selected the numbers. He knew the sequence by heart.

It was Erwin who answered the phone. "Hello, Smith residence."

"Hi, Erwin."

"Mike." The formal tone Erwin had used to answer softened, but as it did, worry crept in. The shift was faint, but Mike knew Erwin well enough to detect the sound. "You have excellent timing. I was about to call you, actually. I wondered what you'd like to do today."

"I'd like to see you, Erwin."

There was a smile in that voice. It was warm, but the warmth wasn't complete. Erwin was trying. Mike was grateful, for that. "I was hoping you would. That can certainly be arranged."

"I'd like to see you alone," Mike clarified.

"We can do that," said Erwin, without hesitation. "When should I be there?"

"Whenever you're ready. I'll wait for you." Mike wanted to see him now. He didn't want to wait, but he would, if he had to.

"I won't be long." The smile had left Erwin's voice. His tone was nothing but serious. Mike could read Erwin well, or as well as anyone could; he would have liked to know what he, in his turn, was setting out for Erwin to read. It had to have been more revealing than Erwin was showing him. Erwin was far better at picking up on cues and analyzing behavior than Mike had ever been, so Mike would never be able to completely hide himself, or his intentions, from Erwin. That was a part of knowing him, and when they had been in unison, the perfectly close friends, it had never bothered him, because there hadn't been a reason for distance or awkwardness or for holding himself back.

No, that wasn't entirely true. There were a few subjects they hadn't discussed. Mike had kept things from him, and he could guess that Erwin had held himself back. Even people who appeared perfectly close could keep parts of themselves apart.

Erwin didn't leave him in suspense, arriving so quickly that Mike knew he must have left his mother's house immediately. There was comfort in that knowledge, and in the fact that Erwin arrived by himself. "As promised," Erwin said. He'd let himself in through the unlocked door, like he used to. Mike's mother--who probably was reading, as few other things could take her so completely away from the world--wasn't disturbed by his arrival. "What can I do for you?" Erwin was without his prosthetic today. The lack made him look more vulnerable, but Mike didn't consider him weak, not for a moment. He was strong and capable enough with only one arm.

"I wanted to talk," said Mike slowly. He had been eager to see Erwin, but he hadn't been sure of what he'd wanted to tell him. It had been more a formless urgency to be in his presence, but ideas were finally taking shape. They were his own, but Mike didn't like the ideas. They weren't going to be easy to talk about.

Erwin continued to take the situation seriously. Mike remembered that alert, collected calm from the front lines. This was no battle, but a portion of the soldier in Erwin remained. "In here?"

He didn't want to be interrupted. His mother hadn't descended yet, but he might. Or his father could come back. "In my room." He amended, "The room I'm using now." It was technically his room now, but it didn't feel like his real bedroom yet. It would take a long time for it to replace the upstairs room where he'd spent so much of his childhood.

"We'll do that, then." Erwin took control, taking hold of the wheelchair, and Mike shortly found himself in the desirable yet distressing situation of being alone in his room with Erwin. Erwin thoughtfully positioned his wheelchair so it was facing the bed before taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. His manner was casual, but there was no part of him that wasn't focused on Mike. "I'm guessing that you had a specific topic that you wanted to discuss. Not that you can't call me over here for no particular reason."

Erwin shouldn't have had to specify that, as they'd never needed a _reason_ , but he had.

"I needed to tell you something..." Mike started out strongly and well, but lost his nerve and trailed off, glancing away. Talking to Erwin made his lips and mouth dry, made it difficult to concentrate.

"I'm listening. I'll be here for you. For as long as you like."

Erwin still had a way of making him feel like he came first, like he'd put everything else aside for Mike. He knew that wasn't true. Circumstances had proved it wasn't true, but that impression wasn't so easy to shake, like the impression that the room upstairs was his true bedroom. Because it was where he belonged, even if he couldn't get to it.

"Take your time," Erwin reassured him. He was being gentle. Mike wished he hadn't felt the need to take extra care, but he appreciated the gesture.

"You know," Mike began again, less certainly. "You and me, how we used to be."

"Yes," said Erwin.

Erwin being able to read him so well could be useful. It could make him feel too exposed, but Erwin's understanding compensated for any faltering of his own communication skills. "We were friends," said Mike.

"Best friends," Erwin agreed. "We still are."

"But more than--"

Erwin nodded. Mike was studying his face. There was nothing to see in it now, no hint of emotion. "You might have thought--I was doing it just because it felt good." At these words, his face began to burn. He didn't talk about this. People didn't. This was a secret, not a topic of discussion. "But I wasn't. I wasn't only... It was different. We were." He hated the thought of Erwin thinking that what had been between them had been limited to physicality, that he hadn't--it might not have mattered anymore, but it was important that Erwin knew.

"Mike, you don't have to do this."

He shook his head. "I do. So you know that I--"

"I do know," said Erwin. "I've known that for a while now. You can say--what you like to me, anything you like, but I don't want to watch you hurt yourself, if you don't have to. If you don't want to."

Mike couldn't say that it hadn't hurt. Trying to get the words out had taken a great effort, leaving him short of breath. He didn't try to say anything else. He stared at Erwin, studying the shape of his face, harder and more angular than the boy's face he'd once worn. "I'm sorry I didn't say..." This time, Erwin didn't interrupt him, but Mike couldn't complete the statement on his own.

"Mike," said Erwin, leaning in closer. Then he paused, and rose to his feet, as if he found standing a position more conducive to talking. "I'll want to be perfectly frank with you, but if I say something that upsets you, or if you want me to stop, tell me. I know that this is hard on you. The last thing I want is to harm you in any way, even if I haven't been good at avoiding it."

Mike agreed to this in his usual manner: without words, with a gesture. His head moved up and down, and he made a slight movement with his hands, to indicate assent.

"You're right. You and I were friends, but that wasn't all. We were lovers, with all that that implies. We weren't simply satisfying our needs with each other, or serving as replacements for women. At the time, I was young, and I didn't think about it as much as I should have. I didn't want to. It was easier not to think about it, so I didn't. But afterward, after I thought I'd lost you, I did."

When Erwin set about being frank, he did a good job of it. When he spoke now, he was clear and unemotional. There might have been feeling in the content of the words, but he didn't let it color his tone and expression. He was odd, sometimes. He had more control than other people, but that didn't make him cold, not beneath the surface. "I wondered what might have happened if we'd stayed together, whether we would have given up our closeness for other interests. I came to the conclusion that I wouldn't have. I wasn't a man who preferred to be with a woman, who was fooling around with his best friend. I was in love with you."

Mike wasn't sure where to look, when Erwin said this. He tried the floor, his hands, the arms of the wheelchair, the wall. None of them made his heart beat slower or his face burn less. He couldn't bring himself to look at Erwin. He felt Erwin's gaze on him, no matter where he looked. It was too direct to ignore. He'd noticed Erwin's use of the past tense at once, but the very thought of Erwin being in love with him at any point was too much for him to take. He'd said that he would tell Erwin to stop talking if he was too upset, but he didn't, as he hadn't told Levi to stop when Levi had hurt him while examining him. He couldn't remember how to tell people to stop. He was compelled to suffer through the ordeals he was faced with. Asking for mercy was weakness. You couldn't be weak, or you wouldn't survive--he knew that wasn't true anymore, he _knew_ it, but knowing didn't alter his behavior, the years' worth of defenses and acquiescence.

"We didn't say this," Erwin continued. "We didn't know this. If we were a boy and a girl, we would have understood, because we were taught that that's the only way it can be." Mike didn't know what expression Erwin wore when he paused, because he still wasn't looking at Erwin. He only knew that Erwin must have been looking at him. "It wasn't our fault. Tell me, did you even conceive of the possibility that we could be together, as a couple?"

Mike shook his head. Erwin was right. He hadn't thought of it like he would have, if Erwin had been a girl. He'd thought it was special, a secret they'd shared, but he hadn't thought it could be the same, that they could do the same things.

"Neither did I. We weren't allowed to think that. Since we were children, we were told, when we were told anything about it, that that kind of desire was shameful and wrong, but more than that, and perhaps worse, we considered a relationship between men unthinkable, something that couldn't exist."

As calmly as he spoke, it was clear enough to Mike that Erwin was shaken, moved. He didn't get upset often, but when he did, his tendency to make speeches became an imperative. He liked to hear Erwin talk like this, but his sober passion could be overwhelming, and this subject was too personal for him to feel anything like enjoyment as the words washed over him.

"That was stolen from us. Children like us are raised to believe that what we feel can't be love. We can overcome it, but we shouldn't have to. We shouldn't be seen as twisted, diseased, or come to view ourselves as such. We didn't want anything but to be together. What was wrong with that?"

Nothing was wrong with it, especially when Erwin put it that way, but it was over, wasn't it?

"I came back from the war," said Erwin, "and in the country I fought for, I was seen as a deviant, a criminal. And why? Because I'd loved someone who'd died for his country? They'd let you die for them, but they wouldn't let you--" Suddenly, Erwin stopped. Mike wondered why, as breaking off in the middle of one of his speeches was unlike him, but he had that question answered when Erwin spoke again, taking a step closer to him. "What is it?" Ah, Erwin had finally read him. He was trying to school his expression, trying not to cry again, but he wasn't as good at that as he used to be.

The past tense, combined with the word _love_ , was painful, much more so than the movements he'd been put through during Levi's physical therapy session the day before. Levi had immediately understood when he was in pain, but Erwin must have had a harder time, because he knew Mike better. That wasn't how it should have been, but Mike thought that was it. When you knew someone so well, you had assumptions about them, and emotions, and they clouded your judgment. He and Erwin used to be able to sense each other's feelings instinctively, but that had been when they'd spent every day together, when each one knew what had happened to the other yesterday and the day before that, and back as far as they could remember. Time and distance and their own separate experiences had severed that closeness.

Erwin had so many words to offer, but Mike had his own, fewer, but no less important. "I know you don't think of me that way anymore," said Mike slowly, "but I'm glad that you did, once." He _was_ glad; he was happy that he had meant that much to Erwin in the past, and it meant a great deal to him to know that Erwin had understood how he'd felt. Even if he'd never come back from the war, Erwin would have known. He'd understood, while Mike was gone, while he was thinking of him, in the dark. All the visions he'd conjured up, and his faith in Erwin, and his hope, and his longing for him, they hadn't been meaningless, because Erwin had loved him, then.

"Mike--"

He finally looked up, to find Erwin staring at him, wide-eyed. All Erwin's words had fled him. He couldn't seem to finish a complete sentence. "No, I--" In the absence of words, Erwin used gestures, a tactic Mike resorted to often. Erwin came close, and his arm wrapped around Mike, pulling him forward in his chair. "That isn't--" Instead of finishing his sentence, he kissed the top of Mike's head, lips brushing his hair. He kissed his forehead, his cheeks. Mike remained still, until Erwin kissed his lips, and then he opened his mouth, automatically. Erwin tilted his head, to deepen the kiss.

Mike could never deny him, but he didn't feel the least will to do so. He was aware of the numerous reasons they shouldn't do this, but he didn't want to think about anything other than Erwin and his hands and his mouth, so he didn't. He pushed everything else away. The whole world went away, for a moment. It was too good, so good to have Erwin's tongue in his mouth, and to slide his tongue into Erwin's mouth, to lean forward and claim him like that. They were so close, they were almost the same again, one body. Erwin was nearly sitting in his lap as he leaned down to kiss him. Mike raised his hands. He couldn't stop himself. He had to touch Erwin, to bring the two of them together in every way possible, to regain a little of what he'd lost, no matter how selfish or foolish it was. He stroked Erwin's back, his ass, the backs of this thighs. Erwin responded with soft noises that did nothing to deter him.

He wasn't thinking rationally anymore. Neither of them could have been. Not considering the way they were acting. His mother was upstairs, and his father might have come home at any moment. They'd done this when they were young, quickly and desperately coming together, rushing to satisfy each other before anyone could find them out. They weren't so young anymore, but Mike felt the same. He was as achingly, urgently hard as he used to be on those frantic afternoons. When Erwin grabbed his cock, he grunted. He would have liked to pull Erwin onto the bed, to push him down, like he used to, but he was too weak to do that. He stayed in the wheelchair, and Erwin sank to his knees.

"Mike, Mike," he murmured as he deftly unbuttoned Mike's fly, with the use of only one hand. There was no waiting, no tenderness, only a swiftness inspired by what felt like need. He needed Erwin's mouth on his cock, and he he slid his hands into Erwin's hair. It was so good to touch him this way again. He'd come to believe that Erwin no longer wanted him, or if he did, that that want held nothing of its old passion, that he could resist it easily, but he was shaking as he knelt between Mike's legs. They were brought together in a way that felt inevitable. Erwin's lips and tongue moved over him hungrily, as he sucked first at his balls, and then at the head of his cock, before sliding his mouth down to take it in, to take in as much as he could. The old desire hadn't faded. For Mike, after years of solitude, it was stronger.

There was no need for him to speak as Erwin's mouth moved over him. He'd tried to avoid the sight of him minutes before, but he couldn't look at anything else now. When Erwin's eyes half-closed, Mike could distinctly see the individual lines of his dark gold lashes, standing out against his paler skin. When his eyelids rose, Mike's chest contracted. Erwin, eyes so clear and cool, returned his watchfulness; their gazes locked. This was what he'd missed, what he'd hoped to regain, for years. Not the sex, though he wanted the sex, but the closeness between them. He held onto Erwin's hair with one hand, wrapping the strands around his fingers, while his other hand stroked Erwin's face, fingers brushing Erwin's lips as they slid over the shaft of his cock, so that he felt both his wet skin and Erwin's in the same instant. It was too difficult to raise his hips and respond to Erwin that way, by giving him more, so he had to make do with these touches.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't real. It felt like it, but it wasn't the same. He wanted it anyway. He wanted whatever he could have, the least scrap or illusion. He wanted back all the time they'd lost, but he couldn't have that. Their time was limited. He tried to draw it out, to sustain the moment, but it was too intense, and Erwin was too good and too eager. As much as he wanted it to last, it was over so quickly, the heat in his body gathering and then spiking, come spilling from him and into Erwin's warm mouth. He watched Erwin's eyes widen, watched him swallow. Erwin took everything he had to offer.

What they'd done didn't fully register with them immediately. Erwin licked at his cock as it began to soften, then tucked Mike back into his pants. His lips were wet and red. He was breathing fast, but his breaths slowed and grew farther apart as Mike watched him. Mike smoothed his hands over Erwin's hair, pushing it back into place. Erwin's expression gradually shifted from pleasure, to calm, to concern. Mike watched it change. Without words, he read what was written there. The faint frown on Erwin's reddened lips and the lines on his brow were their own language.

"Mike, I--"

"Don't." Mike didn't want Erwin to apologize, or to say any of the things he was most likely to say.

Still kneeling, Erwin leaned forward, resting his cheek against the inside of Mike's thigh. It was a small gesture, and sad, but there was a boyish sweetness to it. Mike laid his hand against the other side of Erwin's face. 

"You know what I have to do," said Erwin.

"I wish you could stay."

Erwin turned his head to press his lips to the inseam of Mike's trousers. He swallowed. "I don't know what I'll do if I stay."

"Then stay."

He saw the conflict cloud over Erwin's eyes, and while many of Erwin's thoughts remained a mystery, he could guess at one or two. Erwin wanted to say he was sorry, that he shouldn't have done it, but he didn't want to hurt Mike's feelings. "I can't."

There was the distance again, growing between them. Erwin rising to his feet and stepping back was part of that distance, but not the greater part. This might have widened the gap between them, but Mike had let it happen anyway. "I don't want to go," he said, and Mike believed him. He could see the conflict in the set of his lips, his tensely held jaw, and in the way he cast down his gaze. He wasn't used to seeing Erwin uncertain and upset like this. Erwin was flushed, unfocused, almost dazed. "I'll see you again soon. Very soon. We'll--we'll find a way to fix this."

Mike didn't know how it could be fixed. There were things no one could fix, weren't there? That was why there were junkyards and landfills. That was why some things were thrown away.

"I promise," said Erwin, leaning in to whisper into his ear, then place a quick kiss on his cheek. He hesitated, lingering there, breath warm on Mike's cheek, but he did draw back. "Believe me. Let me go, for now."

Mike didn't protest again. Once Erwin was gone, this false bedroom felt emptier than it ever had. He tried to puzzle out what he or Erwin had done wrong, but the entire incident struck him as unintentional and even inevitable. Erwin wouldn't have wanted to hurt him. It was the leaving that hurt more than anything else, but it was perfectly logical. Or was it? Was Erwin acting irrationally, too? 

Erwin still loved him. Didn't he? He wanted him. That didn't make this better, because Erwin wasn't with him now. Mike told himself that it would be all right, that this was a minor setback, that he should trust Erwin. He didn't believe himself. His face grew hot, but not with desire this time. He was angry. It surged through him, tensing his muscles, coiling and uncoiling in his stomach, and making his temples pound. What could he do? What was he supposed to do? He wanted to commit a definite action, to make all this energy and upset go somewhere. He rolled himself forward, across the floor of the room that wasn't his, because nothing was _his_ anymore--even his favorite books were gone. His arms still worked right, more or less. He had that. With a forceful movement of them both, he pushed his record player off its stand and onto the floor.

It landed with a loud, yet dull and unsatisfying sound. There was no great crash, only a thump. He didn't check to see if the player was broken. He didn't care. It had been his since he was a teenager, a present from his parents on his sixteenth birthday: his real, adult record player. He'd wanted to break something, and so he had--or he'd tried. He couldn't even break things right. He didn't feel any less angry, only more frustrated.

"Mike? Is everything okay?" His mother, who hadn't been stirred by Erwin's arrival or their talk or what followed, was summoned by this new noise. She must have worried that he'd fallen. He'd made her worry. When she hurried into the room, her gaze sought him out first. It was only once she saw he was unhurt that she glanced down at the fallen record player. "What happened?"

It was only then, when he looked at his mother, pale and nervous, that his anger started to fade. "I broke it," said Mike.

She didn't ask any more questions. She came to his side and hugged him tightly. "We'll get you a new one."

"I don't want a new one," he said. He could hear the petulance in his own voice. He must have sounded like a kid to her, complaining about something that was his own damn fault.

"Then we'll fix it, okay?"

It was too much like what Erwin had said. Mike didn't like to cry in front of his mother, but he that was what he did. He sobbed against her as she stroked his hair.


	8. Chapter 8

"Don't worry, this won't be any trouble." This was Mike's father's cheerful estimation of the state of Mike's damaged record player. "I've been wanting to get some hands on experience with electronics. It'll be good as new in no time."

His handy father had managed to lighten the situation. Upon coming home from a long morning of fishing, proudly recounting the tale of his catch, he'd been discouraged by Mike and his mother's worried looks. His pride had dwindled into caution as he'd asked how everyone was, glancing into the corners of the sitting room, either to avert his gaze or seek the hidden source of his family's tension. When he'd learned the fate of the record player, he'd brightened considerably. "So... that's all it is." No one asked him what else he might have feared.

It wasn't only that. Both his parents were aware that the real problem was that Mike had broken it, in anger. More than once since coming home, he'd thought of breaking things, but this was the first time he'd given in to that impulse. He wasn't a violent man. Not when there was no reason for violence. Not outside of the war. The tension that had brought him to that point had been pushed out of the way, but not defused. It was still present, armed, in danger of exploding again. He couldn't blame his parents for not confronting his anger, for smiling as his father carried the damaged machine away to his workspace. They didn't want to ask, "Why did you break it?" for fear of upsetting him again.

They thought they knew why he'd done it. They'd been told, hadn't they, how difficult it was for people like him to re-enter normal society? That was the simple answer, and it wasn't untrue. They wouldn't have thought to ask for more, and he wouldn't have wanted to tell them the strange truth of his feelings for Erwin.

What if they had been able to live as a couple, in the way Erwin had talked about? Then, could he have explained to them that his boyfriend was with someone else? Mike frowned at the thought and ducked his head. Thinking of Erwin as his "boyfriend", of talking about their relationship as casually as he might have if he'd been dating, say, Nan, was too surreal. Erwin never had been his boyfriend. They'd never said that word or acted that way. The idea of letting others know alarmed him. He was too conscious of the risk of his parents being angry, or hurt. It was hard to imagine his gentle parents being cruel to him, so it was more likely they'd be upset and confused. Mike wasn't like Erwin. Erwin was fearless, able to adapt to new ways of thinking. He'd adapted to training, and then the war, better than anyone else Mike knew.

Erwin had been frightening, in battle. As cold as if he experienced no remorse, voice level as he made decisions that saved lives or took them. That coolness in his eyes. He was no longer like that. He'd adapted again, to the life he was living now, having molded himself to fit experiences Mike was ignorant of. It wasn't entirely a bad change. That ruthless leader had been his friend, but at the same time, a part of him had been very far away.

In his new life, Erwin had talked about being in a relationship with a man, to his mother. Mike tried to imagine how such a conversation would have gone, but it wasn't long before he abandoned the attempt. Whatever Erwin would have said would have involved Levi's name and not his. Mike had told his parents when he'd started dating Nan, a long time ago. He couldn't recall their exact words, but they'd seemed pleased, proud that their son was growing up, and maybe a little sad that he was, that he wouldn't be a child for much longer.

Was it possible he'd have that conversation with them again? _Mom, Dad, I'm dating someone._ He pulled away from envisioning this, too. If he couldn't be with Erwin, then he didn't want anyone. He knew, logically and from the experiences of others, that people recovered from heartbreak and grief. The pain faded and they continued with their lives. They could fall in love with someone else. That sounded like the best outcome he could hope for, but he didn't want that to happen. He and Erwin had been special, and he couldn't replace what they'd had together, even if Erwin had been able to. It could be that some people didn't go on, that they only loved one person, and that was that. 

"Do you want to go on a walk, Mike?" His mother must have been watching his expression, because when he turned, her gaze was fixed on his face. He must have let too much of what he was feeling show. She spoke into the silence his father's departure had left behind. He was usually careful not to keep his worst emotions hidden, but his control was slipping. He was too shaken. He didn't want her to see, but she was making an effort to cheer him up. He understood that. It was an obvious effort, but that didn't make it any less kind. Both she and his father had put on the same bright smile for him, his mother following his father's lead. They were good parents.

He liked walks, but he couldn't go on a walk. He could be pushed down the street while someone else went for a walk. That was how it was, these days. Usually, he was patient about it, accepting the fact of his infirmity while waiting for it to change, but it struck him that he'd been struggling for months, sitting in this chair, without seeing any significant improvement. He could get up and walk across the room on a good day, but that simple act left him sore and drained. So, why pretend that he could do anything like take a walk when it was nothing but a nice fiction, something people said he could do to make him and themselves feel better? He shook his head.

"No, I'll sit in the garage." He didn't want to stay in here, he didn't want to go on a "walk", and he had an aversion to the idea of going back to his room. Not only was it not his real room, but he had those too-recent images of Erwin to associate it with: Erwin's bright eyes and warm-colored eyelashes. His reddened mouth. Erwin sinking to his knees, then resting his face against Mike's leg, trustingly. Like when they were young. He glanced at his mother, embarrassed. He'd done _that_ with her in the house. She didn't know what had happened, but he couldn't help but feel ashamed, a shame stronger than the guilt he'd harbored as a teenager, when he and Erwin had kissed each other desperately after school. He was older now. He should know better.

His mother's smile faded without disappearing, but she didn't insist on the walk or try to cajole him into it. She helped to wheel him into the garage instead, offering a few remarks about what a good job his father had done with the space and about how he'd likely be able to fix the record player, too. Mike responded with words of agreement, but he couldn't muster up any authentic enthusiasm or hope. His mother asked if he wanted her to stay with him for a while, but he said no. He wanted to be alone. She didn't argue on this count, either. "Call for me if you need anything," she said. "I won't be far."

He said he would, and as he watched her go, he immediately wanted to call her back and say he was sorry, they could go for that walk now. He didn't say anything. He sat where he was, in the chair, with his hands in his lap, studying the small scars that ran across his knuckles. He might as well get used to the garage. He was going to live here. Someday, and maybe for a long, long time.

Would his father be able to fix the record player? He'd sounded sure of himself, and he usually carried through on the things he said he'd do, but he could have been forcing optimism, for Mike's sake. Likewise, Levi had been so certain he could help Mike's condition and fix his ailing body, and Erwin that he could fix--the things wrong between them, the loss and uncertainty and pain. Mike used to be a hopeful person. He'd considered himself one, but that must have been another thing that had changed about him, because he couldn't bring himself to believe that any of those repairs would come to pass. The things that were broken now would lie broken forever. Like the wreckage left behind after a helicopter crash. Eventually the grass grew up over it and the trees closed in, but that didn't mean the chopper was fixed. It faded away into the jungle, slumbering with the unexploded mines.

He wheeled himself across the large space, to the far wall. The garage was so different that he might as well have been in another house, not the one in which he'd grown up. He installed himself by one of the couches and waited. For what? For his agitation to fade? It didn't. The garage was quiet. There was no music. No sound came from the rest of the house, no clue of what his parents were doing. He heard the faint sound of children playing in a nearby yard, a few calls and a bubbling laughter, but that soon faded. He wished he could go with those kids, become a child again, start over. No one got that wish granted. He made it anyway. He could grow up all over again, and he wouldn't go to war, assuming he didn't get drafted. He wouldn't choose to enlist again. What kind of idiot would volunteer for a war? 

He remembered what kind. He'd been young and idealistic. He'd wanted to fight for his country. He couldn't fault his younger self for that. If he had the chance to do it over, it could be that he'd make the same choice. Nothing was solved with wishes, so easy and clean and unrealistic, and it wouldn't have been right for him to be able to make that wish, not when so many young men brought home in bags would have given anything to be where he was right now. At home and out of the war. He had to stop feeling sorry for himself, but it was difficult to make himself happy by telling himself to be happy. It could be that that never worked. He pushed wishes from his mind, bringing himself back to the garage where he was sitting.

Too late, he realized he should have asked for a book to read or something else to do. It was empty in here, except for the rug and the two couches which didn't quite fit the large space they found themselves in. Nothing in here belonged, himself included. It would have been easy for him to call out for his mother and ask for something to read. She would have brought him all the books in the world, if he'd wanted them. She was good to him.

He hadn't been a good son. He was lying to her, and he'd done something in the house that he shouldn't have done. Not that he wanted to take it back. It might have been the last time that he was with Erwin like that, that he could touch him that way. He wanted to push it out of his mind, but at the same time, he wanted to remember every moment clearly. Why had Erwin done it? Erwin didn't do things accidentally--or he hadn't, before the war. Did he want Mike to know that he still wanted him? He could see that, but what good did the knowledge do him? It only changed the flavor of the pain. He hadn't become unattractive to Erwin, but he was the second choice. He'd been supplanted by the person Erwin wanted more. If he'd had to choose, he would have said that that was better than Erwin's desire for him fading altogether, but it wasn't _much_ better.

Thinking of Erwin, his cock started to stiffen in his pants again. Already? No, he couldn't do this. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else. When he waited too long in darkness, the dark itself began to trouble him. A grown man, afraid of the dark. It was pathetic. He'd been trained for war. He'd been through the jungle, every step with the threat of mines that might burst up from the earth, turning flesh into shreds and spray. He could face the dark, at home, in his own garage. He squeezed his eyes shut, tightly, defying the shudder of fear that started in his stomach, infecting the base of his spine, then crawling up his back. 

He lost his sense of the large space surrounding him. The walls were closing in on him. Too close, it was cramped and hot, and he had trouble breathing. His hips ached with bruises and his thighs with burns. He was trapped in here. Like he'd always been trapped. Always would be. Going home had been nothing but a dream played on him by his mind. That plane had never taken off, carrying him from Hanoi to home. His throat was closing up. He couldn't breathe.

"Mike. Hey, Mike. Buddy. You all right?"

He was aware of a hand settling on his shoulder, and at the pressure, his eyes opened. Nile was standing over him. His frown drew lines between his eyebrows. Nile's face appeared older to him than it should. The picture of him in Mike's mind was of his face when they'd enlisted, still teenagers. Mike's memory hadn't yet caught up with their time in combat, let alone the seven years he'd lost. Whenever he saw Nile, it took him a little time--just a few seconds--to adjust to the present Nile. He nodded.

"Good." Nile ruffled his hair, more like a father than a friend with that gesture. "You had me worried there for a second, Buddy." _Buddy_ was a nam Nile called him only when he was worried. It must have been something he'd picked up in the Army. Mike couldn't remember it from their childhood, and it was hard to tell where or who had said Buddy enough times or convincingly enough that he'd adopted it. Though most of Mike's memories of the war were of Nile and Erwin at his side, the truth had been different, he reminded himself. His memories weren't accurate, many of them reconstructed during the long nights and longer, hotter days of his confinement. He'd told himself stories to get by, and memories of his best friends had blurred into other events. He'd imagined what Erwin would have thought of this day or that man, and then, in his memory, Erwin had been there, giving his opinion.

Part of what he remembered was the truth, and part was a myth. He hoped he could separate the two, but he wasn't sure.

The truth was, the three of them had had different assignments, separate experiences. That was how things were in the Army. They didn't keep you together because you were friends,who wanted to stay together. He was glad. If Erwin and Nile had been in the helicopter with him that day, they likely wouldn't have survived. He grieved the men who had been with him, and that was already too much. If he'd been there, Nile wouldn't have been standing in front of him, calling him Buddy and trying to force his frown into a smile, like everyone else in this house.

"Your mom called to invite me over," Nile said. "Thought you were choking or something when I saw you there like that."

His mother. He'd done nothing to allay her worries, and, in her concern, she hadn't been content to leave him alone. She'd called Nile, and not Erwin. He would have expected she'd call Erwin first. She couldn't have known what had happened, but she could have seen Erwin arrive at the house, or have heard him come in. Did she call him, to find he wasn't at the house? Had he been called, but given an excuse for not coming? He had to stop running these possibilities through his mind. It was difficult to think of anything other than Erwin, but difficult to think of him, too. He didn't know what to think.

"You look like you could stand to relax," said Nile, rightly.

Mike didn't disagree, but he knew what Nile's idea of relaxing was. It came in the form of a liquid. He was expecting an immediate offer of beer, but Nile caught him off guard by not mentioning alcohol of any kind in his next statement. "If there's something you want to talk about, just fucking say it."

Mike shrugged, then shook his head.

"Don't clam up on me like that. You're the worst. Such a damn clam." Nile briefly chuckled at his own rhyme, then quickly sobered. "I never met a man who could shut up as well as you can. But I know you--I can tell when something's wrong with you. You get that look on your face."

Mike raised his eyebrows.

"That real stubborn look. I can't do it. My face isn't built that way. It's made of normal skin, not stone." Following this judgment, Nile looked at him again, waiting. Mike didn't know what he was waiting for, until he asked, "Are you going to say something to me?"

Mike realized he hadn't spoken a word since Nile had come in. "Hi, Nile."

There was another flash of concern in Nile's eyes, but he touched his hand gently to Mike's shoulder and smiled. "There we go."

Nile was thoughtful enough to provide food before offering any booze. It had grown later in the day than Mike had thought, and he had no certainty of how long he'd spent sitting alone with his eyes close while he'd had his--what was it? Anxiety attack? Flashback? It had been one of those times that his imprisonment had felt real and present, while everything else felt like a hopeful imagining. He didn't want this life to end. He didn't want to go back to the other one. Even if, by some awful chance, he was truly back in prison and had dreamed this up, he'd choose to stay in the dream, if allowed to make that decision.

"Nile, am I really here?" He asked his friend this question over the empty plates on the TV trays Nile had commandeered for the garage.

Nile was in the middle of finishing his sandwich. He swallowed quickly so he could assure Mike, "You're really here, Buddy."

He'd rather be called Mike, but it wouldn't have been fair to point this out. He had the sense that "Buddy" was a way for Nile to keep the present situation less specific, less painful. It wasn't Mike, it was "Buddy", who might be any number of different people.

What gave him the right to think that when Nile was here trying to help him? He thought it nonetheless. When he so often didn't feel like himself, the littlest thing could agitate him. He didn't say a word about it. He kept his mouth shut as Nile started to talk. "I'd pinch you if I thought it would help, but only you can decide on the truth. When I first got back, I didn't think I was here either," Nile said. "It didn't feel real. But I know it now. This is real life. Civilian life." He shook his head. "Thought I'd be a lifer, but look where I ended up. A small town cop."

They had planned to rise through the ranks of the military. They had started to, but life had intervened--dramatically, for Mike and Erwin. "Why'd you leave?" Mike asked. Not that it had been a matter as simple as Nile leaving when he wanted to. It never was, in the Army, but he'd dutifully served out the rest of his time, then he'd come back to Roseville. Mike knew about it, the facts and dates, but he hadn't asked the reason why.

"Why?" Nile's confusion twisted his lips and narrowed his eyes. A brief, light expression, but evident. He must not have expected this question, believing the answer self-evident, but he didn't answer it immediately. He looked down at his plate first, then drummed his fingers on the TV tray in front of him. "For Marie, mostly. I wanted a family, and I wanted to be around for them. Not that you can't be a good dad in the military, but I decided to be there every day. That was what I wanted."

It was a convincing reason, but Mike, forcing himself to think of something other than himself, considered his friend and wasn't so sure that that was the only reason. If that were true, why did Nile see the need to escape what he'd left the Army for? He had everything Mike wanted, or the most important thing: he was able to be with the person he loved. Yet Mike hadn't failed to notice the frequency of his friend's drinking and how it took him away from his family in various ways. He was home every day, but he went out drinking at night. Not only with Mike. He had his friends on the force, too.

They didn't discuss Nile's problems often--Nile wasn't the type to mention them, and he would have said that Mike's problems took precedence. Mike hadn't brought up the subject of Nile's drinking. It wasn't his place, and Nile had done so much for him, patiently spending time with him and helping him when he needed it, doing what he could to include Mike in his family. Nile wasn't naturally a "fun" person. He was more standoffish than Erwin, and less calm than Mike, and he could be brusque, or sharp, but he was trying.

If he had his demons, who was Mike to judge him for that?

"Let's not talk about the Army," said Nile, rising to leave that subject behind and picking up their plates. "That stuff's in the past. We've got our lives ahead of us now."

The past wasn't gone. It was with them, right there, but Nile's sentiment was a good one. Mike would have left the past behind if he could have, but it clung to him stubbornly as he tried to forget it. Nile's company did make it recede slightly. Nile was rough around the edges, and he wasn't the talker Erwin was, but his company did raise Mike's spirits. He could forget, for a little while. Claiming a need for fresh air, Nile took Mike outside, and this time, Mike didn't object to the walk. Going outside had come to strike him as a good idea: the blue sky and the quiet streets. The weather was warming, but the air wasn't heavy and humid. There was not a whisper of rain. Neighbors waved, and a group of children ran by, maybe the ones he'd heard playing earlier. If he'd stayed in town, he would have recognized them and known their names and who their parents were, but he'd been gone too long. They stared at his wheelchair, but they must have known or understood who he was, because their pause was brief, and then they were off running again. That was how it should be.

"Marie took the kids to her mom's this weekend, so you'll have to keep me company," Nile announced. He hadn't previously mentioned that Marie was going away. Mike didn't want to ask if the trip had taken place because of him, because he was upset and needed the companionship. If so, it had been planned quickly. That didn't make sense, as he'd known Erwin was going to be in town and would want to spend time with Mike.

Nile had avoided mentioning Erwin. He usually talked around that particular subject, unless he was drunk, but the omission was all the more obvious when Erwin was currently in town. Mike didn't want to mention Erwin either. "I won't leave you alone," he said.

"Friends don't leave each other alone."

They did, but they shouldn't have. Nile hadn't left him, and Mike was grateful.

He tried not to think of Erwin, but Erwin kept poisoning his thoughts, since everywhere they went and everything they saw held some memory of Erwin from his childhood. Whenever one of those memories rose to trouble him, like a ghost, he'd shut down again, clamming up like the clam Nile claimed he was. Nile would grow quiet too, and with no words between them, Mike was aware of a tension--nothing like the tension between him and Erwin, but a certain unease he could feel in the air. There was meaning in Nile's silences, which lasted too long, until he filled them with a quick and mostly unfunny joke or another ruffle of Mike's hair.

After all that, after everything, the alcohol Nile offered wasn't a surprise. Neither was Mike's acceptance of it. They started drinking after dinner. Erwin hadn't called. Mike's mother had suggested inviting him over for dinner, but Mike had made up a story about plans Erwin had with his family. Lying to his mother--what wouldn't he do? He would do so many things that he shouldn't. The lying made him feel worse, but the truth was impossible to report.

He wanted a drink.

Nile suggested drinking in the garage again. He and Mike had gone out to the local bar a few times, but too much noise and movement combined with alcohol made Mike jumpy, and Nile had stopped suggesting that. So, the plan was the garage and beers. Mike's father sat with them for an hour or so, joining in the conversation in his own quiet way, mostly listening, offering smiles and nods. He excused himself early, because he was going fishing again in the morning. Then it was just Nile, Mike, and the beer.

Drinking seemed like a good idea before you did it, and it could be a good idea while you were doing it. It could be fun, but Mike had found that if you were drinking to forget, or to wash away some sorrow, there came a point when a price had to be paid. He and Nile enjoyed themselves at first. The buzz in Mike's head was pleasant, his warmth light. After Mike's father left, he and Nile drank with less mirth and greater desperation, until neither of them was taking any joy from the action. Mike's head was uneasy, the room around him uncertain, the heat oppressive. When Mike looked at Nile, his friend looked almost as miserable as he felt. For a moment, Mike hardly recognized him. Nile didn't resemble his childhood friend, too worn down and weary. Then he forced a smile, and he looked like a faded version of his old self. "You've seen Erwin, I guess," he said.

Mike couldn't see himself, so he didn't know how he looked. His face, already warm from the alcohol, suddenly felt painfully hot. It was hot, and then wet, and he must have been crying, because there was no other explanation for the sensation of water streaming down his face.

"Mike... Buddy."

Mike didn't reply. He was shaking too hard and couldn't talk. No, that wasn't right. He was sobbing, but it was Nile who was shaking him. Mike looked up at him. He wasn't angry. His face was blank. He was shaking with a quick efficiency, as if trying to shake Mike free of whatever was weighing him down. The sobriety in the otherwise obviously drunk Nile's expression was enough to startle Mike out of his sobbing. "Good. Settle down, just... settle down," said Nile.

Mike nodded, choking back another sob, and Nile let him go. He tried to breathe. Yes, he could remember how to breathe. It remained possible. Nile had released him, but he hadn't backed away, standing in front of Mike's chair with that fixed, almost expressionless expression. "Tell me," he said.

Mike looked a question without speaking it. Nile must have understood, because he answered it. "Tell me what it is with you two. I know what it is with me. " He waited, but when Mike didn't provide him with the answer he sought, he went on. "Erwin left me. He ditched me. Without a word to anyone, he up and left. He didn't tell me till he was already gone. He didn't tell anybody. Like it didn't matter. Like what he wanted was the only goddamn thing that mattered. He left me, he left his mother--he left everyone who ever gave a damn about him." Nile was serious. It was clear he meant every word he said, but he wasn't calm. He was the one who was shaking, his hands trembling faintly.

"Now he's back, and you're back, and it's like I'm not here at all. You've got your own thing going. You guys don't tell me shit. Why is that, Mike? I know there's something wrong, but no one tells me a fucking thing! You can't even _talk_ about him, for god's sake. What the hell--he came back for you."

"I'm sorry, Nile." Nile was right. He was lying to everyone, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to Nile, who must have missed the old days, when the three of them had spent time together, staying up all night, with or without alcohol, telling jokes and being ridiculous and being themselves. Mike missed those days, too. That's what friends were supposed to do. Mike wasn't being a good friend. If he hadn't let things get so confused and confusing, they wouldn't be like this today. He'd made everyone miserable today: Erwin, his parents, Nile. Probably Nan. Even Levi, in a way, considering what he'd done with Erwin.

"I'm not a complete idiot," said Nile. "I know you two were the best friends. I was the third wheel, the 'other' friend, but do me the decency of letting me know what the hell your problem is."

No, that wasn't true. They were all friends. It wasn't like Nile said, and it hurt to think that he felt that way. Mike hadn't meant to prioritize them, but his friendship with Erwin had been entirely different. "It's--it's my fault," Mike blurted. The words felt pushed out of him. They didn't sound like his own voice, twisted and distant, like someone else imitating him across the room.

Nile, who had been carried away by his rant, fell silent and stared, startled, as if he hadn't been hoping for a reply. As if he had expected Mike to remain silent but had planned to keep ranting until he ran out of words or feeling.

"I--" Mike had started speaking without having planned what he was going to say, but he was tired of lying. He'd lied so much today. If he hadn't been lying for so long, if everything hadn't been secret and shameful and strange, he might have been able to have what Erwin had spoken of: a normal relationship, like other people had. With the person he loved. It would have ended, but he would have had it. That would have been something. "I love him," he said, in the same strange, distant voice. But it wasn't enough. It didn't mean enough, but he didn't have the right words to explain something so complex, which had taken up so much of his life. Words were clumsy. He didn't have much faith in them. But he didn't have anything else. "I'm in love with him," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

Before Mike had said those words, spitting them out rapidly but sincerely, Nile was already staring at him, already silent. He continued in this course of action, but there was a change in him. He drew back, his arms lowering to his sides, his hands closing up, not quite forming fists, but tensing. He drew farther away and became less open, pulling away and closing off.

Mike, who hadn't expected to say what he'd said, hadn't conceived of any idea of what Nile's reaction would be. He hadn't intended to tell anyone about him and Erwin. He hadn't so much as considered telling Nile, until he'd done it. He'd kept that part of their relationship hidden for years, and he'd seen no reason to share it, not when that would be such a risk. He'd been determined to keep it a secret, for his own good as well as everyone else's. Nile was his friend. He cared about him. He didn't want to upset him, or worse, for Nile to turn away from him, to hate him, to be disgusted by him.

Nile didn't display any of those emotions. First, he remained still and stared. Then, he turned away and exhaled. The noise he made wasn't violent enough to be a hiss or voiced enough to be a sigh. Mike didn't know what to make of this, but he didn't say anything. If he remained quiet enough, it could pass over. Nile could choose to ignore it, to pretend he'd heard nothing. Mike wouldn't insist; he would let him pretend if he wanted to. As Nile let the silence grow and Mike listened to the quickening beat of his own heart, he was aware of some muscles relaxing while others tense. He wasn't only anxious. He felt relief. He'd said it. He'd told someone, other than Erwin, and he experienced the painful ease of letting out a breath after holding it in a long time. He could breathe again. It was as if saying it made it exist, for someone else other than him.

But if Nile was going to draw away from him, abandon him, the friend he'd known since childhood, it wouldn't have been worth it. To feel temporarily better at the expense of a lifelong friendship--that wasn't a fair trade.

Mike was starting to doubt that either of them would speak again when Nile found his voice. "Finally," he said. His voice was sharp, but it wasn't raised in anger.

Mike could only look up at him, not understanding this remark.

"One of you finally fucking told me something." Nile shook his head. "What the hell is wrong with you two? That's what I'd like to know. For twenty-six years I've known you, and you treat me like a stranger, someone you can't tell anything to."

"You knew?"

"No, I didn't know! Not--that. I mean, I--" He broke off, frowned, then started over again. "I knew something was going on with you two. It wasn't just the war. You can hardly talk about him. Your best friend."

Nile was still demoting himself to the role of a lesser friend, but Mike didn't correct him. Not because he didn't disagree, but he didn't think Nile would listen, and in his drunken state, he didn't know how to convince him otherwise, especially considering that the topic of their conversation was his closeness with Erwin. "I couldn't tell you."

"Why?"

The question startled him. It was obvious why. It wasn't something anyone talked about. Why _would_ he have told him? "You might--" The reasons were clear, but now that it had been asked, he couldn't answer the question of why he hadn't told Nile. Partly because he didn't want to say those things, and partly because there was no good reason why it was something people didn't talk about. It was different. It was strange. It disgusted people. Those weren't good reasons, because there was no reason for them to react that way to him. He wasn't hurting anyone. He shouldn't have done what he'd done with Erwin, but he didn't think he was a bad person.

"What?" Nile demanded. "Get angry? Hate you? Hit you? Is that what you think I'd do?"

Mike looked down at the wheels of his chair. 

"Is that what you think of me? Mike, you're my oldest friend."

Mike didn't believe that was a guarantee. Was that disloyal of him? Until Erwin had spoken to him about it recently, he hadn't considered taking an action like telling his family or friends to be a possibility. "You know how people are. In the Army..."

"I know. I know what they say. I know about all that shit." Nile pressed his lips together, visibly concentrating, and Mike guessed he was trying to remember if he'd said something like that. A lot of the guys had. Often casually, the insults thrown around, aimed at anyone who acted too soft, too affectionate. Feminine. Sometimes a joke, sometimes with real venom in the words. _Faggot, fairy, pussy._ Mike couldn't remember if Nile had used those words. It was a long time ago, and he'd pushed those insults away, telling himself they weren't talking about him and Erwin, although logically, he'd understood they were. They meant men who did the kinds of things he and Erwin did. Men who kissed and slept together and fell in love with each other.

Nile must not have reached any definite conclusion about his own past behavior. He didn't offer any apologies, but his features didn't resolve themselves into an expression of decision or relief. "I'm not happy about it. Is that what you want me to say? Of course I don't like that my friends are--" He bit off whatever he'd been about to say. "Shit. Fuck this."

Mike wasn't sure what word or words had been on Nile's lips, but was glad that he had stopped himself. He hadn't expected Nile to like what he'd told him, to adapt to it easily, but Nile was making an effort to be understanding, to be civil, softening his bluntness.

"But you're confused," said Nile. "Did you ever think of that? You must be. You were locked up a long time. You just got out. You're not thinking right. I know how it is. You need time. You need to recover. You've been without a woman seven years. And that's the least of your problems."

"I've never been with a woman, Nile." It was odd to say it, to hear it phrased in those terms. Drunkenness allowed him to admit to things he would have kept to himself, otherwise. He couldn't say if that was a benefit or a drawback to drinking. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to women at all, but aside from the innocent kissing he and Nan had done, he hadn't been physical with a woman. It had always been Erwin. "Only Erwin."

He could see Nile running back in his mind over all the times he and Erwin had gone off together. Sometimes presumably to meet women together. "That's--I knew he was like that, but you?"

"You knew about him?"

"I'm not an idiot. All those protests, moving to the city, living with a man... I ran a few checks on him. Just to make sure he was all right. He has a record, you know? He wasn't just protesting the war. It wasn't that hard to figure it out. He's not quiet about it." Nile's tone suggested he would have preferred it if Erwin were more subtle, if he shut up about it, but Mike felt a warm rush of pride for Erwin. He was still so brave, to do the things he did, to risk insult and injury for what he thought was right. Mike was angry with him, and hurt, but it was good to know that in some ways, Erwin hadn't changed. He'd always wanted to do what was best for people, to fight for his country.

"I'm like him," Mike confirmed, feeling that mixture of anxiety and relief again.

"Since when?"

"Always, I guess," said Mike. He couldn't remember a time that he hadn't loved Erwin, in one way or another. "Him and me. We were always..."

"This is fucking weird," said Nile, folding his arms. The gesture and his tone were incongruously childish for a man in his late twenties, like a boy pouting over his friends doing something he didn't approve of--or just without him, that he couldn't be included in.

"I know."

"Damn it. I need another beer." Nile had already had too many, but Mike didn't stop him, as he went for the cooler and opened another. The empty bottles had gathered on the TV trays and the couch. With an irritated flick of his hand, as if they'd done him some offense, Nile knocked the bottles off one of the trays. Mike could understand his need to break something, but none of the bottles shattered satisfactorily. They landed with dull thumps, rolling across the floor, bruised but not broken. Breaking things, even glass, wasn't so easy as it seemed. Nile's bottle opener worked on the bottle with a harsh pop, and Nile threw his head back, pouring the liquid down his throat eagerly, like he was drinking water on a hot day, something he needed rather than wanted.

"I get it," he said, once he'd had all, or nearly all, of this new beer. "You've got this thing." Like himself, Nile didn't have the words to discuss the subject, but he soldiered on. Mike had the odd feeling that he was trying to prove himself, to show that they were wrong for having kept the truth from him. "Why don't you just--" He waved his hand. "You know."

Mike was assuming he meant a relationship rather than sex, but no matter which he meant, the answer was the same. "He doesn't want to. Not now."

"That guy," Nile said. He was as aware of Levi's presence in town as anyone else was.

Mike nodded. He decided not to tell Nile about what had happened earlier that day: Erwin's mouth warm against his and on his skin. That was too much, and the memory was still too fresh, too provocative, too painful for him to talk about. He also wasn't drunk enough to think that Nile had any interest in hearing about him and Erwin having sex.

"Well, fuck him," said Nile. Mike wasn't sure if he meant Erwin or Levi, but he probably meant both of them. "Fuck him," he said again, for emphasis. "Fuck everyone."

"I'm sorry--" Mike wasn't apologizing for loving Erwin, but for making Nile feel this way. Nile was already stressed, on edge. Did he need more things to worry about? If Mike hadn't said anything, it wouldn't have been a problem.

"Don't you fucking apologize to me, Mike, I don't want to hear it. You're a goddamned hero, and he should show you some respect."

"I'm not--"

Nile was intent on not letting him finish any sentences, and Mike didn't push to be heard over him. "Don't you tell me that. You're a hero! The world needs heroes, you know that. People to look up to. Everyone needs them."

Mike decided not to protest. Nile's words had some weight, because when he thought of the other men in prison with him, who survived so much, who endured in the face of torture and manipulation, hatred, and sheer indifference to their humanity, he believed they were heroes. Why couldn't he allow himself that honor? He didn't want it. That was all. He didn't deserve to be called a hero. If Nile thought he was a hero, then would it be fair to take Nile's hero away from him? Even if it was just an illusion, it didn't seem right. He couldn't disagree with Nile, but he couldn't agree, so he looked down at his chair, studying the narrow arm rests, the curve of the wheel. It was a simple model. It was supposed to be temporary, but he felt like he'd been in it for a long time, the shape and weight of it so familiar, but never like it was a part of him.

"Do you," Nile began slowly. He took a long time to continue this sentence, so Mike studied him, watched his friend very obviously struggling, and not only because he was drunk. His mouth twisted with difficulty. Either he didn't know what to say, or the words he wanted to say were hard to spit out. "Do you really-- Erwin--"

"Yes," said Mike. He guessed what Nile was trying to ask him. Not the exact words, no. He must have wanted to know what it was like, what had been between them. It was a question Mike had been struggling with himself. What was it like? It was Erwin who'd helped him to see. "It's like you, with Marie. Me and Erwin. It's like that." Mike all but flinched as he said it, his hands clenching, closing on the chair's arm rests, the only things he had to grab. He'd put his last beer bottle down already, and he was glad. He didn't want to wrestle with the urge to break it and risk failing to make it shatter, as Nile had. Who knew glass could be so strong and men so easy to break? "Or it was. It was like that." Forcing himself into the past tense was painful. Mike knew his voice had grown thicker, as if he was about to cry again. He didn't want to cry.

He'd compared the relationship between two men to what Nile had with his wife. How many men would let that stand? But Mike's comparison must not have angered Nile, because he was silent again. Unlike Mike and Erwin, Nile was loud when he was angry. Nile moved closer. Mike tensed.

Nile put a hand on his shoulder. "You survived," said Nile. "You came back from the dead. For seven years, we thought you were gone, and you come back, and it's a damn miracle. And then he brings that man here and shoves it in your face? For what? He doesn't have any idea about loyalty. That's not what you're supposed to do. Your friends come first. You should come first, before anyone else."

Mike wasn't expecting the shift in Nile's attitude, from wrestling with his disbelief and distaste to defending Mike's honor. Nile grew angry again, with such a quick intensity that Mike wondered what else he was angry about. Was that all for him? "How often does someone come back from the dead?" Nile asked. "When people are dead, they're gone forever. You can't get them back, and he-- He's fucking ungrateful. He should give you everything, because that's what you deserve."

Mike did want Erwin to leave Levi, but if Erwin left out of a sense of obligation and not because that was what he wanted, what he preferred, would Mike really be getting what he wanted? No. He wanted Erwin to be with him because that was his choice, his first choice. He couldn't have that. He wouldn't refuse. He would let Erwin come back to him, but he never would forget that he wasn't the person Erwin wanted to be with. Erwin loved that stranger: the small man with a cane that was so distant from Roseville even when he was here, part of another world and time altogether. The Korean War he'd fought in was as far off and unknowable as Mike's memories of Vietnam were sharp and distinct: fragments lodged in his mind, cutting his dreams into nightmares.

"I'm going to talk to him," said Nile.

Oh no. That was one thing he would have stopped to consider, if he'd planned out this admission to Nile: Nile talking to Erwin. "It's all right. You don't have to get involved."

"You're my friend. I do. I'm going. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to say about this shit, but I am."

"Now? But Nile--"

"Why not now? What am I waiting for? For Erwin to come over and talk to me? Come to my house and talk to me like we're friends? That won't happen. We aren't friends."

This was the worst thing he'd heard Nile say so far. Nile was drunk; that must have been why he said it, but Mike had never seen him look more sincere.

"Nile, don't--" Mike had no idea what Nile was intending to say to Erwin, but this was a terrible idea. Nile was drunk and mouthy and ill-tempered--and had already been angry with Erwin before learning this. His anger had been simmering for years. Nile was already starting for the door, and Mike rolled toward him, concerned, trying to block his path.

Nile stepped around him. "You can't stop me."

This was, unfortunately, true. He could barely get out of his chair. He wasn't strong enough to restrain Nile for a moment, let alone hold him back indefinitely if he was determined to get somewhere. When they were kids, Mike had been larger and stronger than Nile, sure to win if they were in a fight--usually just a play fight. A part of his mind retained the belief that he was capable of it, that he could get up and push Nile back. Temporarily believing that stubborn, nostalgic portion of his brain, Mike tried to rise. He stood and almost took a step, but promptly sat back down in the chair as his head spun and he was overcome by the sickening certainty that he was going to fall. He was too weak and too drunk. Falling would probably make Nile stay, but he wouldn't fall on purpose. He hated the feeling of helplessness. He wouldn't use it against his friend.

Nile's back was to Mike, so he didn't witness his attempt to walk. "I'll be back," Nile promised, already heading out the door. Mike couldn't follow him any more than he could stop him. He needed help to get through the door, and Erwin's mother's house was further away than that. He could have forced himself to try, but he felt sick, tired, drunk: too much of all of those things to continue to fight, to make his way after Nile.

Nile was the smallest of them, with the shortest legs, the first to fall back or be left behind. Although Mike didn't believe in a hierarchy of friendship, he and Erwin had left Nile behind in the past. "Hey, wait up!" In his memory, he could see the small, dark-haired boy waving, running behind them. He and Erwin would usually stop or slow to wait, but sometimes they'd keep going faster, as a joke, as if they were going to leave him behind. This infuriated Nile, who'd try to run even faster to make up for it, his legs pumping, his arms swinging. "It isn't funny! Come on, stop! Come back."

Now Nile was the one leaving him behind.

They came back for Nile. They never really left him, back then. In the quiet garage, in Nile's absence, Mike felt absolutely alone. He was the one who had fallen behind. Erwin and Nile had built lives without him. He couldn't blame them. They'd thought he was dead, and that was what you were supposed to do, when someone died. Wasn't it? When you were gone for a long time, with no hope of your return, the place where you'd been closed over naturally, the people you knew filling it up with other things, other people, until there was no space left for you. He asked himself what would happen if he went away again, would it be easier for them? If he never came back.

He pushed the thought away at once. He didn't like to think that way. He was drunk. He shouldn't have had so much to drink. The garage seemed too quiet and ill-fitting. It was a place that had changed while he was gone, much like the people he'd known, and there was no space for him here, either, or it was the wrong space, having shifted into a shape that he no longer could be comfortable in. "I don't want to live here," he said aloud, sure of it now. It had been nice of his father to try to customize this space to fit him, and he didn't want to be ungrateful, but he'd decided: he wouldn't end up living in this garage. He didn't know where he _would_ live, but it wouldn't be here.

He could have called for his mother to take him to bed, but he didn't. His parents were probably asleep, or close to it. He must have fallen asleep himself, because the next thing he was aware of was being rolled forward in the wheelchair. He shuddered and blinked and looked over his shoulder to see Nile behind him. He was no happier but more sober.

"You came back," murmured Mike, wiping at his eyes.

"Yeah. I'll always come back for you, Buddy."

It could have been his sleepiness and the lingering effects of the alcohol, but Mike found these words comforting. "What happened?"

"Don't worry," said Nile. "Erwin's fine. He's always fine. Bastard."

There was a bitterness in Nile's voice. Something had happened, but Nile wasn't telling him what it was. Mike could have insisted, pried more, but he was too tired. He was glad Nile was taking him to bed. Not that he was going to let this go completely. "You're wrong about him," Mike said.

Nile's snort was close to his ear. "You always stand up for him. Guess now I know why."

Mike didn't disagree, because this was true. He took Erwin's side, more often than not. But Mike was right, too. Erwin's outward appearance was that of someone who was fine, most of the time, but Mike knew more than Nile did. He was aware that there was something under that calm, something jagged and messy and painful beneath Erwin's usually smooth surface. There were a lot of things Nile didn't know. So many things they didn't know about each other. It could have been the time that had passed that had grown these secrets and ignorances, or it could have been that way all along.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mike, honey, are you ready to wake up?"

That question suggested it wasn't the first time his mother had attempted to wake him up. He sniffed, wiped his face, and slowly sat up. The action was difficult for him to carry out, his mind insisting but his body protesting, yet he pushed himself, placing his hands on the mattress to steady himself. "Are you feeling better now?" asked his mother, who was standing at the foot of his bed. He nodded, forcing his lips to move, to return her careful smile. He could answer that question with confidence; he must have been feeling better than the first time she'd seen him that morning, since he couldn't remember that happening. Not that he felt _good_. His head ached, his mouth was dry, and his limbs were more sore than usual. Last night hadn't been a great one.

"Good," said his mother. "You have some company."

Mike was awake enough to immediately discern that "company" didn't mean Erwin, Nile, or Nan. His mother knew them well and would have used their names. He waited for her to clarify. "Erwin's friend came by." Mike knew what this meant, too, other than the simple fact that Levi had come to visit. She was still uncertain of Levi, and so she didn't refer to him by his name, although she hadn't forgotten it. She wasn't quiet like his father was, but she had her own ways of being indirect. As her son, he understood. They weren't the most communicative family, although his mother was the most straightforward of the three of them. It was no wonder his mom was confused, if Levi, a man she didn't know, had come over to visit without Erwin. Mike was the one who knew why that might be, and he wasn't entirely sure of it.

Mike blinked and checked the clock. Noon had already passed. Through the window, he could see the sun was bright, the sky clear. A perfect Sunday morning outside. It was his inside head where things were a clouded mess. Rain would have suited his mood better. "How long has he been here?"

"He came by a couple hours ago, after church. I said you weren't up, but he said he'd wait. Do you want to see him?"

It would have been easy to say no, that he wasn't feeling up to it. His mother wouldn't have questioned him, and Levi wouldn't have insisted. It wasn't as if he and Levi were friends. He considered giving that _no_ , considered pulling away and holing up alone for the day. How was he going to face Levi after what had happened with Erwin yesterday? His face was heating, and he was hesitating, but his mother was watching. He had to make a decision quickly. Mike didn't have a problem being rude to someone if they'd been rude to him, but Levi never had been. He resented him, but Levi had done nothing but want to be with Erwin, which he couldn't blame him for. They wanted the same thing. He was curious, too, about this man who was now a part of his life, if a peripheral one. No matter what happened, he couldn't push Erwin out of his life. It would be impossible for him to say, as Nile had, that Erwin wasn't his friend. No, that day would never come. So, if Levi meant that much to Erwin--he should deal with him, shouldn't he? He didn't want to, but he felt a sense of obligation.

"Sure," he said. 

"Let me help you dress and get ready," his mother said. This answer had pleased her. There was more light in her eyes, her smile warming and curving into a more sincere shape. She was glad to see him wanting to socialize again. He'd worried everyone yesterday, hadn't he? He had to try to do better today.

He didn't refuse her help. He needed it more than usual. The idea of getting out of the clothes he'd slept in the night before and putting on new ones was a painful one. Sleeves and collars could be more of a prison than most people would ever have cause to realize. His mother made cheerful remarks as she helped him, complimenting his choice of shirt and telling him who she'd talked to at church that morning. She wasn't very religious, but almost everyone in Roseville went to church. Mike was forgiven for sleeping through it, because of his condition. Erwin might have gone, if his mother had pressed him to, but Mike guessed he hadn't, since his mother didn't mention seeing Erwin or Levi at church.

"He's been cleaning," his mother said at last.

"Who?" As this statement had followed an anecdote about a notoriously short-tempered churchgoer and his complaints of the day, Mike wasn't immediately able to guess which _he_ she was talking about. He knew the grumpy Rosevilleian in question well enough to realize that it couldn't be him she was talking about.

"Erwin's friend. He said I must have a lot to do, so he'd clean the house for me."

"I'm sure he's trying to be nice."

"Yes. I'm sure." She didn't look entirely convinced.

"I don't think he meant the house was dirty," said Mike.

"No, probably not."

"It might be the only thing he can do to help," said Mike, so his mother would feel less uncertain about a strange man cleaning her house unbidden. It was a little strange, not the kind of thing you'd expect a friend of a friend to suddenly do, but Mike appreciated the gesture. It was weird, but he found people who were a little weird appealing. He wouldn't say his friends were the most normal people in the world, and that was fine. It was nice for Levi to help his parents with the chores. It made Mike more kindly disposed to him than he would have been otherwise.

When his mother rolled him out into the living room, Levi was, surprisingly, crouching down by the wall. His one knee was bent normally, but his other leg, the injured one, stuck out at an odd angle, to ease the pressure on it. He had a rag in hand and was wiping the baseboard, dusting with great focus. When Mike entered the room, he rose, pressing a hand to the wall to balance himself. He nodded at Mike, then at his mother. "I've finished with the kitchen, Mrs. Zacharius."

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this."

Levi picked up his cane, which he'd carefully balanced against the arm of the couch. "I'm glad to. But that's enough. I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I wanted to consult with your son again. As his therapist." There wasn't much of an expression on Levi's face, nothing that Mike could read. There was a line between his eyebrows and a slight downturn to the corners of his mouth. That was all. Mike could see why his mother had been confused. There was an inscrutable quality to Levi. His expression didn't appear to have any direct relationship with what he was thinking.

"We're very glad you're willing to work with him," said Mike's mother. "So that's fine. I was planning to go out sometime today, if you'd like some privacy."

"Whatever's more convenient for you."

His mother decided to leave. While Mike didn't doubt that she had things to do, she likely believed this was the most polite course of action. His father was either already out, or working on one of his projects somewhere. Mike hadn't asked where he was, and he didn't now.

"I'll get you some tea," Levi told him, once they were alone.

Mike offered to come help, but Levi narrowed his eyes at him, and he didn't repeat the offer. Levi walked out into the kitchen. Mike listened to his cane tapping against the tile floor. Was therapy the only reason Levi had come to talk to him today?

When Levi returned, it was with two steaming cups of tea. "You look like you could use this. You want something to eat?" he asked.

Mike indicated that he wasn't hungry, with a shake of his head.

"If you were half as drunk as your friend was last night, I'm not surprised."

So he knew about that. Nile could be loud. "I was half as drunk as him." 

"That's still basically shitfaced."

"I'm sorry."

Levi put the tea down on the coffee table and seated himself across from Mike. He raised his shoulders and closed his eyes briefly. "You weren't the one yelling for Erwin in the middle of the night."

"But it was my fault."

"If you didn't do it, it wasn't your fault."

Mike suddenly found it difficult to look at Levi. Just about anywhere else was easier to set his gaze. He settled on the coffee table and the two cups resting there, watching the steam rise soundlessly from the tea he hadn't yet reached out to take.

"Don't worry," said Levi. "I know all about it."

It was beautiful, the way the smoke rose in curls, delicate and unpredictable. A simple change in temperature could create these pretty, light swirls, so removed from this conversation he'd like to remove himself from. Mike gave no sign that he'd heard, or that he'd understood, but he had. What else could Levi mean? He was startled. He hadn't expected Erwin would tell Levi about that. If he hadn't told him, Levi never would have known about it. Mike and Erwin were the only ones who knew. Why did he tell him?

"He told me, so let's get it out of the way. He sucked your dick, I know about it, that's the end of the story."

Mike was struck again by the difference in Levi's language. He'd been irreproachably polite when speaking to his mother. Now his phrasing was harsh and coarse again. This must be the difference between his professional voice and his casual one. A physical therapist couldn't talk like this--although if he worked with soldiers, it wouldn't be so out of place. Maybe it wasn't a matter of professionalism, and Levi was being nice to his mom, as he'd guessed earlier.

"Sorry," said Mike again. He didn't know what else to say. He'd never been in a situation like this before. It wasn't as if he'd ever fooled around with someone else's girlfriend when he'd been younger. He'd only been with Erwin. It was only now that Erwin was with someone else. He didn't know how to be the "other man", if that was the right term for it. He didn't like the idea of being that. He'd been the most important person in Erwin's life, a long time ago. Now he was secondary. He shouldn't have been surprised. They must have been close, in spite of the seeming distance in Levi's attitude. Levi had become the one Erwin saw every day, the one he told everything to. Even about Mike. He should have been glad that Erwin had been able to move on, to find someone else to care about. If asked, before he'd been taken captive, he would have said he would want that for Erwin, if he died, but he wasn't dead. That made all the difference.

Levi denied his apology with a sharp motion of his hand. "What did I say about apologizing? Don't give me that shit."

"I am--" It was a sincere apology. It wasn't as if he wanted to take it back, those moments with Erwin. He wanted Erwin. He loved Erwin, but what he'd done had been a bad idea. It had been good for a short while, but now he felt worse, everything he'd lost so much more immediate.

"Like I'm going to blame some traumatized vet for letting his dick get sucked," said Levi, with a snort. "Anyone could have seen it was going to happen sooner or later. Not that I like it, so don't get the idea that I'm being soft on you, or that I don't care. It's Erwin's fault. So he's the one I'm pissed at." Levi frowned and picked up his teacup by the rim, his fingers arranged carefully around the cup. Mike had never seen anyone sip tea so sternly.

Levi gazed at him over the cup. "I once told Erwin that if he ever screwed around on me, I'd leave his overgrown ass. But that was before you came back from the dead, so I decided to make an exception. This one time."

Mike hadn't found any words to offer yet. He couldn't talk about this. Like it was a relationship. Like it was a relationship that had ended. He picked up his own cup of tea, by the handle. Levi was so authoritative about the way he held his cup, Mike was tempted to pick his own up by the rim, but his mimicry would have been obvious. Instead, he leaned in to sniff the tea, the fragrant steam rising into his nose. It was the same tea his mother had made when he was a kid. The familiar scent was comforting, when few other things were.

"That's not what you want to hear. You'd rather I kick his ass out, right?"

Levi was waiting for a reaction, and Mike struggled not to give him one. He wasn't sure what the end result of his restraint was. His ability to control his expression had eroded along with his ability to control the rest of his body. Levi had said, when they'd first met, that they were going to be honest with each other. Right now, Mike wished they weren't being quite so honest.

"If I was a nice person, some kind of saint, maybe I'd give him up."

Mike said nothing. He wasn't a saint. He wouldn't have given Erwin up.

"I'm not," said Levi, and there was nothing nice about his expression, but Mike wasn't the only one who found this surplus of honesty disconcerting. Levi put down his tea and glared at the wall. "This is some kind of high school bullshit." Disgust curled his lip. "Let's forget it." 

It was too important, and neither of them could forget it, but if they said they would, they could make an effort to pretend.

"Are your parents always like that?" Levi asked, changing the subject.

Mike wasn't sure what Levi was referring to, but his parents hadn't been acting any differently around Levi than they ordinarily did, so he felt assured in answering, "Yes."

"You're lucky."

"I am." Was this small talk? It felt like the most painful social exercise in the world. "Do your parents live in New York, too?" He knew so little about Levi that asking him questions was like shooting in the dark.

He wasn't a good shot, in the dark. "They're dead," said Levi. This was delivered without much emotion. That didn't mean much when talking to Levi. He could have been glad or sad about it, for all Mike could tell. "I've got a kid sister," he added. "That's it."

An only child, Mike could nonetheless relate. Nile had been like a brother to him. Erwin had been something--other. "What's your sister like?"

"A loudmouth. And a pain in the ass."

Mike couldn't suppress a smile. "Not much like you, then." He was surprised that he was apparently making a joke. He was sure someone like Levi could be a pain in the ass if he wanted to be, if he thought it was necessary.

Levi eyed him as if not sure if he was serious. "Only half like me. I'm not big on conversation."

"You talk to me."

Levi paused to consider this fact. "You're so damn quiet, if I didn't, we'd sit here all day not saying anything."

He had nothing to say to that, which proved Levi's point.

"For a quiet guy, you cause a lot of trouble," Levi went on. "Thanks to you, I had an interesting day. First Erwin tells me about his special extracurricular activities, and I have to deal with that, then he and his friend get into a shouting match in the middle of the night."

"I--" Mike was going to apologize, but he remembered in time that no one was interested in hearing his apologies. Because he was a vet, or a hero. Or because he apologized too much, but everything that had happened had been partly his fault. He'd encouraged Erwin, when they were alone together. He'd told Nile about Erwin. He hadn't meant to cause any harm, but he had. Lack of ill intent didn't make the harm you caused any less.

"It was a matter of time before someone punched him in the face."

"Nile did that--?" Nile hadn't seemed roughed up at all when he'd gotten back, so Mike hadn't had a reason to believe there'd been a physical fight, and Nile hadn't told him about it.

"I assume that's where he got the black eye. He didn't have it when he went out to talk to him." Levi pursed his lips, sipping at his tea again. He didn't appear to have any sympathy or pity for Erwin, but an actual expression of annoyance flickered across his face, his eyes narrowing as his jaw tensed. He didn't like what had happened, and Mike was of the same mind. He didn't want to see Erwin hurt. He'd never hurt him.

Mike sighed. Starting a fight with Erwin was bad enough, but hitting him? He shook his head, castigating himself again. He should have kept his mouth shut. If he had, nothing like that would have happened. He should have said something better, smarter, something that would have made Nile feel better about Erwin. What particular words would have had that result eluded Mike, but he should have tried. "He shouldn't have done that."

"He was standing up for you. So I'm less pissed. Still, he needs to shut his damn mouth when people are trying to sleep."

Mike was so used to saying things without actually saying them that he understood Levi at once. Erwin's mother wasn't in good health. She'd been fragile since her husband had died, and her condition had worsened after her son was wounded. She couldn't have enjoyed the spectacle of Erwin and one of his best friends fighting on the lawn after dark. Mike would have to tell Nile to apologize to her, if he didn't think to do so on his own. She'd been good to them when they were kids. Looking after all three of them like they were her own, just as Mike's parents and Nile's parents had done, making sure each other's kids were safe and happy. That was how it should be, people taking care of each other, involved in each other's lives. That was how kids should grow up. 

He'd had a good childhood. He'd been protected and loved, but looking back, after talking to Erwin, he saw his old life here hadn't been as perfect as he'd thought. He'd idealized those days, built his memories of home up while he was in prison, providing an idyllic escape, a golden world that existed in his mind. Everyone did that in some way, didn't they? If they could, they remade their childhood into an innocent, joyful time. It hadn't been perfect, and neither had he. He'd been strange, never the most popular person. He hadn't talked much. He'd been teased for his height, his quietness, and his stranger habits, like his penchant for sniffing everything, even the books and desks and pencils at school. As he'd grown older, he'd felt guilty and frightened. He'd had to keep secrets. He'd wondered what was wrong with him, but he hadn't been able to talk to anyone about it. Unable to date girls, worried that he was ruining his friendship with his best friend. Nile couldn't know about those later worries and fears. He hadn't experienced them or heard about them. But Erwin must have known, or suspected. Erwin must understand. 

And Levi. Maybe he did, too, if he'd had a childhood like that. If he'd been different.

"I'll talk to him," said Mike. "He won't do it again." It wasn't as if Mike could be sure of controlling Nile, but if he phrased it right, Nile would listen--if not to reason, then to his hero, if that's what Mike was.

"Good." Levi rose to his feet, setting down his tea.

He had drawn a breath, clearly about to say something else, when Mike interrupted him. "Levi."

"What?"

"When you were a kid--or when you were younger, did you..."

"Did I what?"

It was an odd question to ask of someone he had known for such a short time, but he knew that Levi was _that way_. Who else could he ask? Other than Erwin, he didn't know anyone else he could discuss it with. Nile was aware of it now, but he had demonstrated that he wasn't comfortable with the subject, and it was outside the realm of his experience. With Erwin, the topic was too emotional, too likely to open recent wounds. "Did you like boys?"

Levi's lips twisted, as if he were affronted. There was a hardness in his expression as he stared at Mike for a long moment, but it faded into his usual look, milder without being soft. Above all, he looked tired. He couldn't have gotten much sleep last night. Mike regretted asking him such a personal question, but he couldn't take it back. "I did," said Levi at last.

"Did it upset you?"

The pause that followed this question was a much shorter one. "I hated it."

"Did you--" Mike was about to ask another question, but he thought better of it and stopped. Levi was staring at him, and Mike had the sense that he was upsetting him. He couldn't say why he thought so. Levi no longer looked upset. He wasn't doing anything that showed distress, or any emotion at all. That was why Mike decided to stop asking questions. There'd been a deadness in Levi's voice when he'd said those words: _I hated it_.

Levi was perfectly willing to let the subject drop when Mike did, not insisting that he complete his unfinished question. He didn't encourage any further inquiries, behaving as if Mike hadn't brought up the topic and nothing had been said. "We'll do some exercises." He drew himself up to his full height. That wouldn't have sounded imposing to anyone who knew the simple fact, in inches, of how tall he was, but somehow, he loomed over Mike, his manner changing, his calm bluntness shifting into a cold intensity. "But first, you're going to listen to me."

Mike was listening. It was hard not to listen, with Levi glaring at him like that.

"I'm not your doctor. You're not really my patient. I'm not doing this for Erwin, or because I have to do it, as a therapist. I'm doing this for you. I'm doing it because it's what I want to do. So do something for me."

Mike nodded, willing to entertain a request.

Levi leaned in closer. "Don't you fucking screw around with drinking when you're recuperating. Do you understand me?" Mike had never heard that Levi was a drill sergeant, but if someone had told him that he had been, he would have believed them. "I don't care if your dumbass friend does it. He can drink himself into a stupor all he wants. He's not my concern. I'm going to have my eye on you, and I don't want to hear that you got shitfaced again. I know people give you a pass--because you're a vet, you're a war hero, a POW--so why not let you have a few drinks, a little fun--but I don't give anyone passes, do you understand me? I don't care who you are. And the last thing I need is for you to make yourself sick by drinking with your buddy."

Levi was angry now, nothing ambiguous about his voice or manner. It made Mike nervous. Aggression brought back bad memories, but this was nothing like the anger he'd been subjected to in the prison, those strange men he couldn't understand standing over him, as likely to strike him as scream at him. Levi's anger was controlled and focused and not hateful, not personal. Mike had no sense that Levi was going to hurt him. He tensed but didn't flinch. "I get it. It makes it hurt less, doesn't it? You don't have to think anymore. I've done it, too. Erwin did it."

What Levi said was true. He wanted the pain to go away, to forget. The alcohol never made that happen, but being drunk confused his mind enough that for brief periods, he couldn't focus on the bad things, so it was like they disappeared for a little while. Which made him want to try it again. He knew it wasn't good for him, that it didn't work, but he tried it again, hoping it would, encouraged by that brief warm feeling, tempted by the illusion of being happier for a short time. Although it was as likely to make him sad.

"You think your parents want to see that?" Levi asked, and Mike was ashamed. His parents must have been upset to see him drinking too much, yet they had been too nice to say anything about it. He'd been selfish. He hadn't thought about it that way. "You think anyone wants to see that? You know how many vets drink themselves to death? Too fucking many. I see that too goddamned often. Every time I see it, it pisses me off, it's such a senseless waste of life. A waste of good men."

There was only one reason why Levi would be saying these things: because he cared what happened to him. That was strange, to be cared about by him.

"You're a good man." Levi leaned back anger fading. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you?"

"Yeah." It wouldn't be as easy to keep that promise as the mere act of saying it was, but he meant it. He was going to try. It wasn't Levi's fierceness that inspired him so much as the fact that he cared. His only reasons to do so were the fact that Mike was Erwin's friend, and the fact that Mike was another human being. He wasn't sure if Levi _liked_ him, but he was concerned.

"Good. I have enough patients giving me crap back at home. I don't need one more."

Mike had the odd dual impression that Levi was both a good therapist and a very frightening man. He didn't want to be one of the patients who gave him crap.

"They bring you back, and then they don't make a place for you." Mike glanced down at Levi's leg. He must have had a similar experience, when he'd come back, feeling like he didn't belong. His words had more impact on Mike than the words of someone who hadn't been through that. It was easier to listen to someone who understood. "They don't understand how much it tears you up. You're expected to start all over again. Like it didn't happen, like you weren't changed. It's fucking shit is what it is."

"Yeah."

"But you've got good parents. Let them help you. I know your friend's fucked up, too, but he's not my responsibility. Don't let him drag you down with him."

He didn't like the thought of pulling away from Nile, who was already estranged from Erwin. Mike was the one who was in a wheelchair, but Nile needed him. Last night had made that clear. Nile had changed in his own way, as Mike and Erwin had. It wasn't a good change. Something was wrong, but Mike couldn't guess at the specifics, as Nile avoided talking about what had happened in the war. "I can't do that to Nile."

"Who said you have to do anything to him? Drinking with him makes it worse for him, too. Now come on." Levi rested a hand on his arm, done with his speech and uninterested in pursuing the subject of Nile. His grip was firm, supportive, but not too tight. It didn't hurt at all. "Show me what you can do."

Mike nodded, running through the range of his arm's movement with Levi. Levi was patient, but didn't give him any words of encouragement, no coaxing, no cheer. He watched him, and a few times he nodded, and Mike was left to ask himself how Levi felt about doing this, touching with the man who used to be Erwin's lover, who'd been kissing Erwin just yesterday. Levi didn't falter. If he was jealous, he revealed no sign of it. Mike experienced more than one pang of jealousy, but he tried not to show it. He tried not to let himself consider what it was about Levi that had made Erwin choose to stay with him. Levi was interesting and competent, coarse but compassionate. Mike didn't make a habit of estimating the attractiveness of men who weren't Erwin, but he could admit that Levi was good looking. He didn't look much older than Mike and Erwin, and his skin was clear, his eyes alert and alive, his features fine. Even if his clothes were old-fashioned, they suited him. They were clean and well-tailored. When Mike breathed in, he was aware of the fact that Levi smelled clean, like soap and lemons and whatever harsher cleaners he'd recently been using.

Levi lowered his arm, slowly. "If this is too much for you, I'll stop."

"No, it doesn't hurt, I said I'd tell you if it hurt."

"You're staring at me like I killed your goddamn dog. Or grew another head. I can't decide which."

"I didn't mean to. I don't think that. Either of those things."

"If I'm making things worse, then there's no point in me doing this. I'll find someone else."

"No, I was just thinking..." He trailed off. He expected Levi to drop the subject, but the silence continued and the exercises didn't resume. Levi was waiting, expectantly. He wanted to know what Mike was thinking. He hadn't expected to be called upon to finish his sentence. Mike could hardly tell Levi that he'd been thinking he was attractive, because that would sound wrong. He wouldn't mean it that way. He'd rarely been attracted to other men, and never in the same way he'd wanted Erwin. Over time, in Erwin's absence, he'd idolized him, idealized him. Had he cared about him too much? Had it made him unable to want someone else that way? He wouldn't admit to that. Of all the things he'd ever done, he couldn't let himself regret having loved Erwin. "About how you look."

"What about it?"

He couldn't tell Levi what he'd been thinking. Trying to analyze why Erwin liked him--it was too weird, and it would be too upsetting and uncomfortable to say it out loud. "You really do look like a Marine."

Levi grunted. "Thanks. Means I don't look like some Army asshole."

"Wouldn't want that."

"Yeah, I can't think of anything worse," said Levi. He made another small noise, not quite a grunt, and he might have been amused. But he didn't smile. Mike hadn't seen him smile. The more polite version of Levi who'd spoken to his parents hadn't smiled either, and most people did. They'd smile when meeting you, for politeness' sake, if nothing else. What would make Levi smile? Mike would probably never see that happen.

"If you're done admiring me, let's get on with it," said Levi, moving to Mike's other arm. He was a harsh taskmaster, but Mike didn't mind. He was grateful. It was a relief to have this to focus on, the direct action of physical effort. It didn't confuse him like the alcohol. It helped him to focus, and faced with Levi's calm and expertise, he felt safe. He focused on his arm, on the way it moved. When it started to hurt, he said it hurt, and Levi let him stop. It was simple. Not easy, but uncomplicated. He didn't talk, and Levi didn't ask him to say anything else.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A **warning** for this chapter: there is discussion of the suicide of a loved one. Nothing graphic, but it is discussed at length.

It was an ordinary morning. Mike was sitting at his desk shifting his legs. His first growth spurts were already upon him. He used to be able to swing his legs freely while sitting, but now he was forced to curl them up as well as he could, constantly repositioning himself in the desk he'd outgrown, trying to take up as little space as possible. The school must not have expected many children six feet tall or more. When his legs stretched out too far from under the desk, they stuck out and proved too much of a temptation. The other boys would flick wadded up balls of paper or other missiles at him, trying to get them into the cuffs of his pants. 

As he was trying to position his legs perfectly, so they would both be comfortable and attract as little notice as possible, he heard a too-familiar noise. The sound of a throat politely clearing in a subtle attempt to attract attention. He heard that noise several times a week. Attuned to it, he turned toward it at the same time the teacher, Mr. Greenberg, did. His mother was standing in the doorway. She wasn't his teacher. She didn't teach his grade. There was no reason for her to be standing in the doorway in the middle of class.

"Hello Mr. Greenberg," she said. She was smiling, but her smile was off by a few degrees, not its usual pleasant and reassuring curve.

"What is it, Sarah?" While his mother smiled and kept with the formality of last names in front of the students, Mr. Greenberg was frowning and used her first name nervously. He was a jumpy man. He sat at his desk and bit his nails while his students were taking tests.

Mike expected she was going to ask for him. She was his mother. If something had happened, something important--urgent or awful, she would be the one to come get him. "I was wondering if I could talk to Erwin," she said.

"Erwin? Of course." Mr. Greenberg gestured at Erwin, a little wave and a smile, as if shooing him over to the door. It was a fond gesture. Teachers liked Erwin. He had a way of charming adults and avoiding any trouble a less charismatic person would have gotten into for doing the same things.

Erwin rose to his feet. Everyone was staring at him, wondering where he was going and why. Mike stared too, until he sensed he was being stared at. His mother was watching him. Her mouth was smiling, assuring everyone everything was fine, but Mike knew her too well. He'd seen her waiting up with him when he had a high fever, and going to visit Grandpa in the hospital. He knew what his mother looked like when she was worried. Their gazes met, and he asked her a question with his eyes. She didn't answer it, the smile on her face stiffening into place, as if she'd put on a mask.

Something was wrong. Erwin, so good at guessing what people were thinking, must have known, but he gave no sign of it. He turned and smiled at Mike, then crossed the room and let himself be led away, down the hallway to an unknown destination. 

Sarah--Mrs. Zacharius--his mother--didn't say they were going to be right back. She didn't say anything else. She offered no reason, no future plans. Mike resisted the urge to get up and run to the door and press his face to the narrow slit of a window that looked out onto the corridor. He wanted to keep his eyes on Erwin, to stay with him, but he allowed Erwin to disappear from sight.

Once Erwin was gone, Mike found it harder to concentrate, and his legs were three times as restless as before. Fortunately, no one noticed. Knowing he was Erwin's best friend, people stared at Mike for a minute or two, but when he didn't do anything or appear to know anything, they lost interest. Erwin's sudden, unexplained departure had made everyone restless, including Mr. Greenberg, and Mike was, as usual, the most quiet person in the class. Kids whispered and passed notes. They shuffled their feet and sighed. A spitball flew, not at Mike, fortunately. It landed on the chalkboard with the tiniest, wet noise. Mr. Greenberg frowned but decided to ignore it. There was some suspicious coughing, an attempt to distract rather than the result of any irritation or illness. Mike looked out the window, to see if he could find any explanation for Erwin's departure there, but the parking lot held the same old cars and no answers. Mike tried to tell himself that it was nothing important--or if it was important, it was of temporary importance, could be undone or overcome.

In vain, Mr. Greenburg tried to get his class interested in discussing the book they'd just read: _All Quiet On the Western Front_. Mr. Greenberg had written a few phrases on the chalkboard. Mike read over the ones that had been scrawled in the largest print. _Banned in Nazi Germany_. _The horrors of War_ , with _War_ underlined. And a question and answer: _Who is in the right? Perhaps both_. Mike had liked the book, but he hadn't read _Catch 22_ yet, which he would like more. This book, that he'd read for class, was about World War I. He didn't know anyone who'd fought in that war, and it felt very long ago and far away. It wasn't that he didn't care about the people in the past who had died, but Mike cared more about what his best friend was doing now. He had only read about the war and seen it in movies. What was happening with Erwin was happening now.

Since no one was watching, Mike reached into his desk. He kept a small collection there, of things he liked to smell. Sniffing familiar things calmed him down when he was upset. It was a habit of his people thought was weird, but people thought he was weird no matter what he did, so why shouldn't he do what he wanted? Nothing in his collection was contraband. It wasn't against the rules. He pulled out a small snail shell that he'd found on a family trip to Lake Superior. It was long and narrow, its spiral shape dwindling to a point. Mike brought it up to his nose and breathed in. He could smell the water and the sand along the lakeshore, all these months later. The vacation had been fun. Erwin had come along, and they'd had so many adventures together: exploring, swimming, fishing. Everything was more fun with Erwin, even if there were times when Erwin confused him, mostly when the sun was shining on the water beading on his bare chest and down his back. The image of Erwin, lying down and breathing hard, with his wet lips parted, flashed in Mike's head, but he pushed it away. He tried not think about those things. He especially shouldn't think about that now, when something might be wrong.

As the shell reminded him of Erwin, its scent was no good in this situation. It didn't calm him down, and Mike put it away. Why wouldn't anyone tell him what was wrong? Erwin was his best friend.

"What do you think, Mike?" Mr. Greenberg asked him suddenly.

"What?" Too late, Mike saw that he'd been staring blankly in the direction of teacher and chalkboard, giving the erroneous impression that he was one of the few people paying attention. Oh no.

"My question was about the end of the war. In particular, the characters' plans about it. Or lack thereof. They're not able to envision going back. The war had destroyed everything. Do you think that was a correct estimation?"

It wasn't as if Mike had to bluff. He'd done the reading. He always did, but he hated being called on to talk about what he'd read in class. It would be different if he was talking about it privately, with Erwin, but with everyone staring at him in the middle of class, he didn't know what to say. "People do," said Mike. "Go back."

"So they do. This is a verifiable fact. Could you explain further?"

The soldiers hadn't thought that anything was waiting for them afterward, or that there was nothing left of who they used to be, no one remaining who could go back, but that didn't mean they were right. Almost everyone in Roseville knew someone who'd been a soldier, most likely in World War II. They'd come home. They had lives. Not that Mike was saying the characters in the story were wrong, because it was true. The old world was gone. But that didn't mean the world was gone altogether, although he could see why they'd thought so. It had seemed like it. "People do go back. They have to. Like they had to fight in the war in the first place. If they survive, they go home. Because that's what people do."

"You're saying it simply happens. As easy as that."

He shook his head, because that wasn't what he was saying, but he knew he wasn't doing a good job of expressing himself. "No." Words weren't his allies, and he was nervous and upset. "Not easy. Maybe it's like the war. It's bad. And some people make it and some don't." The story didn't go that far, so no one would ever know what would have happened, if the soldiers had gone home.

Mr. Greenberg was either satisfied with this answer or realized Mike was having difficulties. He decided not to press further, instead asking someone else their opinion, and Mike let out a sigh of relief. He couldn't think about literature right now. He had no idea what happened during the rest of class, but he was aware enough to jump up as soon as the bell rang, rushing for the door when he usually walked more slowly and let others leave the classroom first. He'd decided to go find his mom and ask her what was going on--he could check her classroom, then go to the office if she wasn't there.

He didn't have to look anywhere, because his mother was standing in the hall outside the doorway, waiting for him. "Mike. I need to talk to you." She was wearing the same stiff smile from before, but he could see from her reddened eyes and nose that she'd been crying. He nodded. School wasn't over yet. The halls were busy with students changing classes, but Mike knew he wasn't going to class. He felt like he was in a dream, a dream in which everyone else is going on with their normal lives, but you know something bad's about to happen.

His mother didn't say anything until they were standing in the empty conference room she led him to. "I have to tell you something."

He nodded. It wasn't hard to guess that she had brought him here to break some unpleasant news. It must have had to do with Erwin, since he'd been called away first.

"This morning, Erwin's father passed away."

Mike blinked. He couldn't have heard her right. That couldn't have happened. He'd seen Mr. Smith yesterday. He was one of the teachers at the school. One of his mother's oldest friends. They'd grown up together. His parents and Erwin's parents showed up at each other's houses for dinner or a game of cards at least once a week, usually more often. They borrowed ingredients and tools from each other, and they baked each other cakes or mowed each other's lawns, never hesitating to help out. They looked after each other's children. They went on vacations together. Mr. Smith was so funny and smart and nice. He wasn't just a friend's father, more like an uncle. He was family. Mike didn't want to believe he was dead, so he tried to deny it.

"But--he can't have. He wasn't sick." He hadn't heard about Mr. Smith having so much as a cold lately. His mother had to be wrong somehow. But how could anybody be mistaken about something as big and obvious as death?

"Sometimes, these things happen suddenly."

She hadn't made it sound like there had been an accident. "So, he got sick?"

"He had a heart attack. He stayed home from work because he wasn't feeling well, and it was more serious than he thought. He didn't realize. No one did."

The idea that one of their parents could suddenly die without warning was shocking. If asked, Mike would have said that that was true, logically. Anyone could die, that was a fact; but before today, he'd never entertained the thought of losing a parent, hadn't considered what it would be like, as the idea was all so distant, like a foreign war, far in the future or the past. "Where's Erwin?"

"He's with his mother right now, but they're going to come stay at our house for a little while. So you'll see him soon. He's going to need you, Mike, but I know you're the best friend he could ask for."

Mike started to cry, and his mother put her arms around him, stroked his hair. "It's all right." She only took an instant to rethink those words. "No, it isn't, but it's going to be." It was like what he'd said earlier, about the soldiers in the war, about them going on because they simply didn't have any choice. They had to face this because there was no way not to.

"I'm taking you out of school for the day."

That was one small relief. He couldn't deal with school after this.

His mother left school with him and took him out to lunch. She ordered him a cheeseburger, but Mike couldn't eat. If he did, the taste of cheeseburgers would forever remind him of this day, and he'd never be able to eat cheeseburgers again. Somehow, he was sure of this, and he tried concentrating on this belief to help himself stop picturing Mr. Smith's smiling face. Mr. Smith waving, Mr. Smith stopping by the house to drop off a book he'd borrowed from his mother, Mr. Smith's focused gaze as he stared at the cards in his hand, his face a blank. He had the best poker face. He was like Erwin that way.

When they went back home, there was no one there. "Where's Dad?" asked Mike, although it wasn't his father who was dead. He felt the need to see him, to prove the fact that his father existed.

"He's with Erwin and Mrs. Smith."

"Where are they?"

"Still at the hospital. They'll be back soon. Do you want to help me make some cookies?"

They weren't going to want cookies. Mike didn't want cookies. He was sure his mom knew this, too. She must have been trying to think of something to keep him occupied. He liked baking with her, usually. He didn't want to bake today, but he nodded, dumbly.

He didn't say anything until they were mixing together the ingredients and he was pouring in the chocolate chips. He couldn't eat any cookies today either, or he'd never be able to eat cookies again. The chocolate smelled sweet, though, as sweet as it did any day. Mike didn't allow himself to taste it. "Can I put on the radio?" he asked.

"Of course you can, honey." 

On the station his mother had the radio tuned to, Sarah Vaughan was singing brightly and smoothly along with her background singers. Mike didn't bother fumbling with the setting. He liked the voice better than the song, like sometimes he liked a smell better than a taste--like coffee, which smelled so good, but had disappointed him when he'd tried to drink it. The song sounded good, but not when he focused on the lyrics.

_Broken hearted melody_  
Must you keep reminding me  
Of the lips I long to kiss  
And the love I miss  
Since he went away? 

The lyrics sounded sad, but her voice was bright and clear. The man who was gone was going to come back, or she thought he was, so she hadn't lost her hope. Mike wasn't sure what the man was going to do. Why had he left in the first place, if they loved each other so much? The song didn't say. The music didn't cheer him up. As it played on, not even the songs that were supposed to be happy sounded happy to him.

Once the cookies were in the oven, there wasn't much to do but wait for them. Mike went into the living room and sat on the couch. He didn't turn on the TV; he expected it would help about as much as the radio had. The house had just started to fill with the sweet, warm, bready scent of the cookies when the front door opened. Mike jumped up and raced to the foyer.

His dad was standing there with his arm around Erwin's shoulders. Mike didn't see Mrs. Smith anywhere. Was she still at the hospital? Mike was glad to see his father, but now that he was here, he hardly paid attention to him. He stared at Erwin. Erwin stared back. He didn't look happy or sad. He didn't look like he was feeling anything, wide-eyed and blank-faced, but Mike knew how close he was to his father. They were father and son, but they were friends, too. Mike didn't know what to say, so he went to Erwin and put his arms around him. He held him tightly, leaning in until Erwin's hair brushed his face. He breathed in deeply. The familiar scent of Erwin filled his nose, but he smelled like other, unusual things, too. Like chemicals and tears.

He was right: Erwin's mother was staying at the hospital. She was too upset by her husband's death to come to the house, and Mike guessed that she had collapsed or had a breakdown, although no one came out and said it. No one said much at all. At dinner, everyone tried to talk and eat, but any conversation that started quickly faded out, and no one had an appetite. The cookies lay untouched in the cookie tins where his mother had placed them, sweet and unwanted. It was a quiet night, even for Mike's usually quiet family. Words were used only when necessary. The silence was a heavy one that muffled all sound, even the TV when Mike's father turned it on. Perry Mason was on that night. No one paid it much attention, and Mike told himself that he would never watch that show again, as if not doing things from today would make today not count, somehow. Would make it go away. He knew that couldn't work, that you couldn't undo a day and make history turn out differently, but that knowledge didn't stop the idea from taking root in his mind.

Erwin stayed over that night. He and his mother would stay at the Zacharius house for months afterward, until they managed to sell their house. Mrs. Smith would never step inside that house again. She could have had the same thought as Mike, that she could undo things by avoiding a certain action or a place. People got strange thoughts, when something bad happened.

Erwin wouldn't let Mike's mom make up the guest room for him. He insisted on sleeping in Mike's room with him, like it was an ordinary sleepover. Not sure where Erwin wanted to sleep, Mike's mother brought in a sleeping bag, blankets, and an armload of pillows for him. Ignoring all this bedding, once it was time to go to sleep, Erwin slipped into bed with Mike. He lay resting against him, unselfconsciously, as if seeking warmth.

Mike was very aware of Erwin's heat and closeness, and his smell. The scent of the hospital's chemicals had faded, and his scent was entirely his own again, with all the usual elements. "I'm sorry," said Mike. He struggled against the silence to speak.

"You don't have to be sorry."

"But I'm sorry it happened." Mike felt clumsy again. His words were clumsy. What was he supposed to say? If he knew the right words, they might help Erwin. Not cheer him up--who could be cheerful at a time like this?--but distract him or comfort him. If their situations had been reversed, Erwin probably would have known the right thing to say.

"I know. Me too." Erwin moved closer, his body pressing against Mike's. As they were teenagers, and boys, most people would have thought it was weird that they were sleeping in one bed together, but it didn't seem weird to Mike. Not this part of it. He felt better, with Erwin next to him. He hoped it made Erwin feel better, too.

"I didn't think that--that something like that could--I mean, he was never sick." He repeated the same sentiment he'd offered his mother earlier that day, the one useless idea he could come up with to refute the tragedy. Before today, Mike couldn't remember Mr. Smith missing a day of school. Having spoken, he immediately closed his mouth. He shouldn't keep talking about Mr. Smith dying. Sure, it was what everyone was thinking about, but that didn't mean Erwin wanted to hear about it.

Erwin didn't tell him to stop talking about it or more subtly attempt to change the subject. "Yes, he was hardly ever sick." He paused, and it sank in that Erwin was talking about his own father in the past tense, which was somehow the saddest thing that anyone had said yet today, because it was so simple and so final. You knew it would never go back to present tense.

"He wasn't sick," said Erwin, after a pause.

"No, I guess--it was really sudden? Mom said..."

"He wasn't sick at all," said Erwin, continuing in an almost eerily calm voice. "He did it on purpose."

It took Mike a few more moments, but then the truth of what Erwin was trying to tell him struck him suddenly. It felt like a physical blow. His chest and stomach tightened. His skin felt cold. That couldn't be right. He must have misunderstood. "What? Mom said he had a heart attack." His mother wouldn't lie to him, would she?

He didn't know how Erwin could be so calm and quiet. His voice didn't so much as shake. "I overheard my mom talking in the hospital. They didn't know I was outside the door. I wasn't supposed to hear it, but I did. She said he'd done it."

What Erwin was saying was more unthinkable than the reason Mike's mother had told him. He didn't _want_ to believe it. "She was upset, so maybe she was confused? And she made a mistake."

"No, I believe her," said Erwin. "They wanted her to be quiet about it. They don't want anyone to know, not even us. Because it's shameful. Because it'll look bad. And they're protecting us from the truth."

It was hard for Mike to disbelieve Erwin. He sounded so sure, and Erwin was so often right about things, aware of facts others were ignorant of or ignored. "But why would he do that?" It made no sense, not when he tried to connect the idea with the thought of that intelligent, confident man with the bright gaze. Erwin had his eyes.

"I don't know," said Erwin. "He must have been unhappy."

There still wasn't much emotion in Erwin's voice, but it had shifted, into the same unhappiness it spoke of, a slight downturn. "But--" Mike fell silent again, reminded of what he'd said earlier that day, about how people kept going because they had to, pushed on by necessity, by the lack of options. Some people made it and some didn't. Some people didn't survive. He wanted to ask more questions, but at the same time, he didn't. He wanted to ask those questions in the hopes that one of the answers would make it clear that Erwin and his mom were mistaken about what had happened. He couldn't think of any question that could prove that.

"I wish he'd told me," Erwin said, his voice growing quieter.

"He didn't say anything about being sad?"

"No." He paused, voice almost fading altogether. "I'm unhappy sometimes."

Mike was already worried and upset, and at this, he felt his chest ache. "But you wouldn't--"

"No," said Erwin.

"Okay." Mike trusted him, and the ache in his chest eased somewhat. If Erwin told him something, he meant it.

"Don't tell anyone," said Erwin. "They don't want us to know."

"I won't tell." He'd keep a secret for Erwin, even from his parents.

"You won't leave me, will you, Mike?"

Mike was startled by this question. The idea of him leaving, or wanting to leave Erwin hadn't occurred to him. Why would he? The thought bewildered him more than anything else Erwin had said. He'd never want to be without his best friend. This was all too much. Everything that had happened today was too much. He didn't know what to think. But he knew one thing: "No, I won't."

"Never? You promise?"

"No, never. Ever. I promise."

"I promise too," said Erwin. "I'll never leave you." Erwin leaned in to kiss him. His lips brushed against Mike's. Mike was very aware of the fact that this wasn't how two boys were supposed to kiss--mostly, men didn't kiss each other unless they were related, and then it was on the cheek--but he didn't care. He kissed Erwin like he'd kiss a girl, turning his head and sliding his tongue into Erwin's mouth as it opened. That was what Erwin wanted him to do. It might make him feel better, or think about something else for a little while. And right now, he would do anything, anything, if it meant Erwin would feel better.

***

Levi didn't stay long after he'd helped Mike with his exercises. He didn't say where he was going when he left, but Mike assumed he was going back to Erwin. It must have been nice, to have that, to live in a world in which going home mean that you went back to Erwin. He felt silly for being jealous, but he was. Yet he was glad he and Levi had been able to talk. He was glad Erwin had told the truth, as uncomfortable as it was, so he didn't have to lie about it. It wasn't difficult for him to avoid a subject, since everyone expected him to be quiet, but directly lying didn't come easy for him.

He returned to his downstairs room. When he saw the empty space where the record player had been, he felt sad and foolish all over again. He kept acting strange and doing ridiculous things. He wished he could go back to his old self. Not that he'd never been foolish or sad before, but he hated being angry. He hated acting on impulse and feeling powerless in the grip of his emotions. There were moments when he was a stranger to himself. The war had changed him. Had he truly managed to come back? Would he make it? One thing he'd learned, not during the war, but since he'd come home, was that the trip home wasn't only a physical one. His coming home at all had been a miracle, but that first part had been the easiest part.

He leaned down and picked up the Dylan records Erwin had given him, which were thankfully undamaged. He'd listened to them through many times since Erwin had given them to him, months ago. It made him smile, faintly, to think that Erwin had bought every one as soon as it came out, because of him, so that he could listen to them when Mike couldn't. He must have believed that Mike would never hear those songs, and yet he had. He'd heard all of them now. Thinking of Erwin listening to the records while remembering and mourning him made him sad, but it was good, too, to be remembered. If he had died, Erwin wouldn't ever have forgotten him. That was how you lived on, wasn't it?

He wasn't angry at Erwin for what he'd done yesterday, not like Nile was angry and Levi was angry. There was anger remaining in him, but it wasn't aimed at his friend. It was _there_ , like a storm in the air, a sense of rain that could fall. He didn't want to be angry. He wanted to talk to Erwin again. It would be a shame to waste the time Erwin was in Roseville not seeing him. He thought about calling Erwin, to tell him it was all right to come over, but he was nervous. That was something else that was new, that he didn't like. Erwin never used to make him nervous. Mike had always been sure that he could depend on him for anything, no matter what. It was a hard change to take. He was so used to the quick, easy trust--it had been like a part of himself. He'd been able to depend on it, as he'd depended on his limbs to function.

The strange thing was, you didn't need to believe in something for it to work, like you didn't have to believe in your heart for it to keep beating. It was there. He didn't need to call Erwin. Erwin must have started to make his way to the house as soon as Levi got back, because he arrived before Mike's mom came home. He didn't ring the bell. There was a knock on the bedroom door, and when Mike put down the records and said, "Come in," Erwin was standing there. He must have let himself in. The doors weren't always locked during the day, and he knew where the spare key was hidden. It had been left there since they were kids, under the rock by the porch.

Mike instantly saw the truth in Levi's earlier words. The skin around Erwin's eye was already bruised. It was dark red and swollen. "Are you sure I can come in?" asked Erwin, hesitating on the threshold.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"That's a relief. I thought I might be persona non grata around here."

"No, you're persona grata--" Mike didn't know Latin, and he paused. "Wait, is that right?"

Erwin neither affirmed nor corrected his Latin. He just laughed. "Good, I'm glad. I missed you."

"You saw me yesterday." Mike refrained from mentioning what they'd done when they saw each other yesterday. Everyone was bent on insisting he wasn't responsible for his actions, but he'd known Erwin was in a relationship, and he was aware that you shouldn't fool around with someone in a relationship. He'd been in the wrong. He didn't care if no one else thought so. He could be stubborn, too.

"Yesterday was a long time ago, so I had ample time to miss you. Besides, I felt like an asshole."

Mike didn't need to ask why he'd felt that way. He nodded toward the bruise on Erwin's face. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's not the first time I've been hit by a cop, and it won't be the last. I'll accept your apology on the day when you throw a punch at me."

"I'd never do that, Erwin."

"I know. That's my point. There's no need to apologize." He smiled, oddly amused for someone who'd been punched in the face. "Nile's been upset with me for a long time. Maybe it's done him some good to express it."

"But still--"

"It was almost touching. He was defending your honor. Not that he'd put it like that himself."

Mike reddened. "Erwin--" He could state things in the most embarrassing ways. Him and his weird jokes.

"I'm not upset with Nile. In some ways, he's been right to be angry. I left him behind. But I had to go. I couldn't stay here."

Mike nodded. Oddly enough, he was coming to understand Erwin's decision. Coming home wasn't as easy as you thought it would be, when so much about home--and you--had changed.

"I didn't expect you to tell him about us, though. That was not a conversation I'd seen myself having with Nile anytime soon."

Mike shrugged, because he hadn't expected to discuss it, either. He had no explanation for why he'd told Nile, except that he'd been drunk and Nile had seemed to be asking for information, for an answer. He'd wanted to be included, to be part of their friendship again. So Mike had trusted in him, in his inebriated fashion. "He can take it."

"Apparently so." Erwin smiled. "But let it be known that I can take a punch."

"We all knew that already, Erwin."

"Still, it's nice to be appreciated for my virtues." This was another joke, but as soon as the words left his mouth, his smile faded and his manner changed. Mike could tell when Erwin had an important speech to deliver. He knew the signs, and he looked up at Erwin in silence, sensing when he was supposed to listen. "Mike, I want you to understand. I made a mistake--We can't do that, because I'm in a committed relationship. But I don't think our relationship is lesser because of that. I still care about you and love you just as much. Levi is well aware of that."

Mike had never had to talk about emotional matters so much. He and Erwin had rarely discussed them openly before. Although Erwin was the talker of the two of them, he hadn't often talked about this. Mike had assumed these things had been understood between them. He had been wrong, because he didn't understand, and likely never had. In prison, his memories had been more of an exaggerated escape from his surroundings than accurate recollections. "He mentioned it," Mike said.

"Did he?" Erwin raised his eyebrows, and it occurred to Mike then that Erwin might not know what he and Levi talked about. Now that he thought of it, Levi didn't strike him as the type to relay the details of his conversations.

"Sort of." Levi had referenced Erwin's feelings for him. He'd been blunt about some topics, but had skirted others. Mike was still taken aback when he remembered how frankly Levi had spoken of Erwin sucking his dick. The words had been so matter-of-fact, thrown down without apology or tact. "He said if it had been anyone else but me, he would've left."

"Yes. He made that quite clear. As it is, I didn't get off easy. You're much gentler with me, regardless of whether I deserve it. I will be persona non grata for a while, with him."

"He wasn't mad at me." Mike didn't understand this, either. He hadn't expected Erwin's practical confession or Levi's rough understanding. When he thought about it, it made sense that he was confused. He had no experience with relationships--in reality, they didn't work like in the movies or on TV. They worked in a way that was very much individual to the people in them, complicated, puzzling, and unique. So it would make sense that Erwin would be logical and Levi would be--rough, he supposed. He couldn't predict Levi. He didn't know him well enough.

"He's not mad at you because he likes you."

Mike pressed his lips together, skeptical. "He doesn't know me."

"But he likes you. I can tell."

Mike wasn't sure what Erwin was basing this supposition on, but he had no grounds on which to refute the claim. Erwin knew Levi far better than he did. He nodded, as if accepting this. He couldn't argue about it. His best alternate explanation was that Levi felt sorry for him, but he couldn't see Levi as the kind of person to feel sorry for anyone.

"You're fortunate to have escaped his wrath. It isn't a pretty sight."

Mike didn't doubt that Levi could be imposing when he was angry. "You didn't have to tell him what happened." 

"No, I didn't." He didn't take this remark as a suggestion that he should have kept a secret, but as the statement of fact that it was. It was also a question. Mike wanted to know why he'd told him, and Erwin knew that, too. "But I'm tired of lying. I have no intention of lying anymore. To anyone. He's right to be angry with me. I made a promise to him, and I broke it."

"Yeah." Mike still felt guilty, for being a part of Erwin breaking his promise.

"I made a promise to you, too."

"To me?"

"Yes. You remember."

He did. It was the lack of specification from Erwin that told him which one he meant. Of course, he meant _that_ promise. The most important one. They'd made it what felt like a long time ago, but Mike had never forgotten. He'd never forgotten anything about that day, the day Erwin's father had died. He still had trouble eating cheeseburgers and chocolate chip cookies, even though he'd tried so hard to avoid poisoning them with that sadness. Everything had been a little bit poisoned by that sadness. 

The promise they'd made hadn't been just a promise. It had been _the_ promise, and when he'd made it, he'd meant to keep it. _I'll never leave you._ Erwin so seldom asked him for something like that, for reassurance. He'd needed him, had needed him to stay, but Mike had left him. He could feel his guilt spike, a sharpness cutting through his chest. If you made a promise, you should keep it.

"What is it?" Erwin asked, leaning in closer.

"I didn't keep it. My half of the promise."

"Yes, you did. You're here, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but--I went away."

"Mike. Even if you had died, I wouldn't think you'd broken your promise. It wasn't about dying. I knew you could die. Even then, I was aware of the possibility. I was very aware of things like that, even when I was young. It was about not leaving me behind. Choosing to leave, drawing away. Because if you'd gone, I would have had no one left."

"Nile--"

"You know Nile's not the same."

"I know." He was their good friend. Mike would never want to leave him out, but he couldn't be a part of everything.

"I care about him very much. There are many people I care about, but there are different kinds of connections, and some are more intense, more close. No one could replace you." Erwin was stroking his hair again, and Mike was worried. There was nothing wrong with touching someone's hair. The problem was that it could lead to something else. "I missed you so much."

Mike felt the same. He was glad, but frustrated. He was supposed to return to Erwin's side, but there were too many obstacles. "I want to keep the promise, Erwin, but I can't stay with you. The way things are." Mike wasn't the one who would be leaving. Erwin was going to go back to New York. No matter what he did or said. He was sure of that. He would be gone. It wouldn't mean Erwin didn't love him--he could believe that--but it hurt. It was Erwin's choice to go. He was the one that was maintaining the separation, and no matter if Mike understood that rationally. He couldn't convince his emotions.

There was a wide variety of pauses within Erwin's personal lexicon. The maddening thing about them was that there were so many of them, but Mike only knew what a few of them signified. Erwin had mastered the language of silences, but Mike hadn't. Mike's own silence was usually the same one, repeated over again. When Erwin let a few moments pass this time, Mike had no idea what he meant by it. "No. Not literally. Not in the way you mean. But I can visit you, and I can call you, and I can write you. I'm with you, if you want to be with me." He drew his hand back, as he must have realized his stroking of Mike's hair had gone on too long.

"I want to be." Mike felt relieved. It was impressive and bewildering that Erwin could both lighten his burdens and increase them at the same time. He was glad that he hadn't let Erwin down, but sorry that things were so different, that they'd have to be apart. He'd dreamed of being with Erwin again, but when he looked back at his prison dreams, what he'd been longing for wasn't a relationship, not like Erwin had with Levi. He'd wanted a return to the way things had been before. Maybe it was better for Erwin to be with someone who'd been able to give him that. A mature relationship. Mike wanted to be with Erwin, but he'd never had a relationship like that, hadn't thought of himself in those terms, as a man who liked other men. Was that what he was? He'd only liked Erwin that way. He did find girls attractive. So what did that mean?

"What are you thinking?" Erwin asked him.

Erwin's ability to read him had its limits. Mike was too embarrassed to say what he'd been thinking about. "Nothing."

Erwin didn't press, but he wasn't convinced. "Sometimes I wish I could see into your head," he said, shaking his own head. "There's a lot in there no one knows about." But Erwin couldn't see into his head. He glanced around the room instead, as if suddenly remembering where he was, that they weren't in Mike's old bedroom, the one in which they'd spent so much time together. Erwin noticed, then, the space in the room where none had been before. "What happened to your record player?"

"I broke it," Mike confessed.

He didn't need to explain. Erwin's expression told him that he'd inferred the truth. That Mike had broken it on purpose. Erwin couldn't see into Mike's head, but he had a way of understanding these things that no one else did. Understanding him. Erwin didn't criticize or pity him. "I can get you a new one."

"No, it's okay. Dad's going to fix it." He decided to have faith in his father. Dad had said he could fix it. Not only did Mike not want Erwin to feel he had to buy him a new record player because he'd wrecked his own, but he didn't _want_ a new one. He wanted the same one he'd listened to records on before the war.

"Your dad's good at things like that."

Erwin's dad had been good at things like that, too. He had been smart, like Erwin, probably the smartest person in town. Mike couldn't help thinking about him after Erwin had brought up their promise. So many things were tangled up together--their friendship was tied to their families, to this town, to the war.

"It's good to see him," said Erwin, who must have been following his thoughts, or following his own, similar, train of recollection. "He became like a second father to me. He made an effort to do that. He's a good man."

Mike was used to avoiding this subject, but he moved toward it, as Erwin seemed to be encouraging him, or allowing it, at least. Erwin's greater openness was one change he didn't mind. There had been times when the way he would close himself off had alienated Mike. That had started before the war. It hadn't started when his father had died, but that had aggravated the condition that was already present: the distance that could appear quite suddenly, the way Erwin could be right next to him, but a thousand miles away. "I liked your dad too, Erwin."

"We all did."

"I still miss him a lot."

Erwin smiled. Mike had seen him cry over his father's death, but it hadn't been often. Erwin said nothing, but it was probably beyond _missing_ , what Erwin felt. A part of him--he kept losing parts of himself. Mike had been badly damaged, but he'd gotten things back, if in a battered state, unlike Erwin. Well, Erwin hadn't lost Mike, but he'd thought he had. 

"He left a note," said Erwin.

Mike shifted in his chair. He hadn't heard about that, but they hadn't been meant to know about what had happened. No one would have mentioned a note to them.

"My mother didn't tell anyone about it. I don't know how common it is for suicides to actually leave notes, but there was one. Or, not precisely. It was something he'd written shortly beforehand. He didn't directly reference what he was going to do. It could have been nothing more than a journal entry, detailing his state of mind. Not meant for anyone to read."

Mike didn't ask what had been in the note. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"After the war, my mother finally told me what had really happened, what he'd done. I knew already, you and I both knew, but I didn't tell her that. I don't think she would have liked to think that I was aware of what had happened at such a young age."

Mike nodded. Erwin could keep a secret very well. That wasn't always a positive trait--but some secrets were better to keep than others. Mike wouldn't have told her, either.

"My father wrote that he felt like he didn't belong in the world. Like he wasn't a part of it. It was too big, and he was too small, or else he was too big and it too small. He didn't specify the relative sizes--but regardless, something didn't fit. He felt like a monster, trapped in his own skin. He wasn't what he was supposed to be. A terrible feeling. I can understand it."

Mike could understand it, too, but he didn't say that. He listened, sensing that Erwin needed to talk. Having lived with someone who was so likely to draw away, he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their coming close again.

"When I lost him, I thought it was my fault. If I'd been there, if I'd done more, if I'd been _better_ , he wouldn't have died. When you died--when I believed you'd died, I thought the same thing. I could have saved you, if I'd been there, if I'd done things differently, if I'd altered one choice. I almost died, myself. I started to feel like that, like I was a monster who didn't fit."

Now Mike did speak, frowning. He couldn't remain silent after hearing that. "You couldn't be a monster, and those things couldn't be your fault. They couldn't."

"I know that, logically. It wasn't a matter of logic. It isn't. I still think, that if I'd only done the right thing, that wouldn't have happened to my father. I could have put him in a slightly better frame of mind that day. Something as simple as that."

"You didn't know, Erwin."

Erwin shrugged, as if his lack of precognition was of no consequence. "There are some actions that have consequences we can never know. On an ordinary day, you might perform a simple action that prevents a chain of events you couldn't have foreseen. You choose to leave fifteen minutes early, or you're five minutes late. You stay home from school, or you accidentally trip someone who twists his ankle and doesn't go on the mission. But when that happens, you'll never know that what you did averted a tragedy. You learn about the tragedy only when it happens, once it's too late. After you didn't do anything that could have stopped it."

Mike couldn't say that there was nothing anyone could have done about Erwin's father, because it wasn't as if Erwin's father had been fated to take his life. That didn't mean it was anyone else's fault. What Erwin's father had felt wasn't so difficult to comprehend. Mike had felt a shadow of it. He'd experienced pain and despair, and he'd wanted to be free of it. There had been times when he'd been convinced he'd never see the outside of the prison again, that he'd die in there, surrounded by strangers. All his months of surviving, of enduring, would have been for nothing.

If there was a monster out there somewhere, then it wasn't Mike. It wasn't Erwin's father, and it wasn't Erwin. "It doesn't work like that, though. Cause and effect. You know."

Erwin was a very smart man. He knew. He didn't deny it, but he didn't confirm it. He neither continued to defend his position nor relinquished it, but reasserted: "You didn't break your promise to me. You did nothing you can be faulted for." 

It was true that he'd had no hand in the plane crashing, but if he considered his actions--and non-actions--the way Erwin did, he might have found a way to assign himself some guilt. Wrongfully. It was wrong, but if Erwin blamed himself in part for his father's death, this wasn't the time for him to talk him out of it. "I'll go on keeping it," said Mike.

"I hope you'll think that I've kept my promise, too."

Mike nodded, slowly.

"Am I forgiven? At least a little?"

"Yeah." He probably would have forgiven Erwin for anything, given enough time and space.

"You're too kind to me."

"Not really." That was what friends did. They forgave each other for mistakes. Erwin hadn't tried to hurt him. He'd hurt him, yes, in the recent past and not-as-recent past, but _trying_ to was another matter. 

Erwin had brought up a number of topics that Mike wasn't going to forget anytime soon, but when Erwin moved away from the subjects this time, it wasn't with a sense of finality or distance. He was moving on, that was all. Putting things away for later, not sealing them off. "This is--more than I'd intended to discuss. You're too good at getting things out of me." This remark surprised Mike. He hadn't done anything, and he'd had the impression that Erwin was good at keeping things away from him. Was that not true? That wasn't a question he could ask. "Let's think about something else. Just once, let's try to be ordinary people." He flashed a quick smile, and although it wasn't a spontaneous smile, made with some effort, it wasn't insincere. "How about we play a game?"

"All right." The thought of doing something everyday with Erwin, of being normal together, was distinctly appealing. How long had it been? These turbulent emotions were exhausting. He was very willing to go along with Erwin's attempt to create a semblance of an ordinary afternoon.

"Your parents must still have their games around... What do you want to play?"

Mike didn't need to think long, but he made himself stop and put on a show of considering, for Erwin's sake."How about checkers?"

"Checkers? Are you sure you wouldn't prefer chess?"

"No." Mike would not be moved. "Checkers. I like checkers."

"If you insist." Erwin looked displeased and sighed, but he was teasing. This was an old joke of theirs. It was a curious phenomenon: although Erwin was nearly unbeatable at chess, Mike very often succeeded in beating him at checkers. Mike's theory was that, while the Byzantine strategy of chess suited Erwin, he tended to overthink the more straightforward stratagems of checkers. After all, Mike didn't lose at chess because he had no skill with strategy; he lost because Erwin was so good. Mike couldn't be entirely sure, but it was possible Mike was simply _better_ at checkers than Erwin, a possibility that amused him and at least slightly annoyed Erwin. "We can play checkers."

Erwin didn't play games lightly, bringing to them the same seriousness with which he faced any challenge. Not that he wasn't fun to play with, but he wasn't about to let anyone win. Mike was the same. Even when facing Erwin at chess, he didn't intend to lose easily. He didn't intend to let him win at checkers, either. 

They moved out into the living room to play. Mike's family had the same old checkers set they'd had since he was a kid. It used to belong to his grandparents, and the checkers were wooden, dark brown vs. pale brown. They had been played with countless times, and all that enjoyment had smoothed them down, seemingly polished them to a shine. They were ideal checkers, soft yet solid in his hand.

"I hope you're ready to king me," Mike said.

"We'll see who'll be kinged," replied Erwin, ominously.

"Me," answered Mike.

They sat down at the table in the living room, like they used to. Mike could have pretended they were back in that time, playing games together after school. They were so much older, Mike was sitting in a wheelchair, and Erwin moved the pieces with a different hand, but for the moment, it wasn't so far away from how things were once. It was the same home, the same friends, the same family. Mike expected his mother would be back any moment. His father must have gone out after all, or else was so wrapped up in his work that he'd lost himself in it. Otherwise, he would have emerged by now to see what was going on, or to get a drink or something to eat. Yet when they did appear, they might bring snacks or drinks, as they used to do for two boys, a long time ago.

Mike's prediction was correct: he earned his kings, and victory. He had won one game, and he was working on a second triumph, when there was a knock on the door. Erwin rose to his feet immediately, but Mike rolled back, away from the table. "No. I'll get it." He could still do things. He was slower, but capable.

Erwin acquiesced, wordlessly. He sat down again. He let Mike do it alone.

On the doorstep, a man Mike had never seen before was waiting: a young police officer. He was standing with perfect posture, but somehow managed to straighten up further when the door opened. The sight of a police officer on his doorstep for no known reason made him wary, but in a small town like Roseville, it could mean anything. They'd tell you if your car lights had been left on, or if there'd been a crime in the area. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"Can I help you, officer?"

"Mr. Zacharius, sir."

Mike wasn't surprised the cop knew who he was. Everyone in town knew that he'd come back, and where he'd been. "Call me Mike."

"It's Sergeant Dok, sir."

Did he just continue to say sir? It was like a joke, but he looked so serious that Mike didn't smile. "Nile--is something wrong?"

The officer nodded sharply, and his rather severe bowlcut bobbed impressively as he did so. "I think you should come with me. I wasn't sure who else to contact. He was talking about you." He paused, leveling a look at Mike that Mike could describe only as extremely earnest. "Someone should do something."

"Erwin." Mike raised his voice so it could be heard in the next room. He wasn't worried that Nile needed medical attention. If it was anything like that, this conscientious young man undoubtedly would have called for an ambulance. So instead, it was a case where friends or family were needed.

Erwin appeared moments later, and the officer must have recognized him--there were very few tall, young, blonde men with one arm in Roseville--because he nodded soberly. Bemused, Erwin turned to Mike. "Looks like we have a job to do," Mike said.


End file.
